The Friend Shop
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: Erik is an assassin, moonlighting as a reclusive composer. Christine is a lonely girl, hired at the recently started business called The Friend Shop. This is their story. Rated M. INCOMPLETE. E/C. Leroux/Kay based. MODERN.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, I've decided to post this book on here after receiving approving comments on Wattpad. This will be a slow updating book. I'm writing the chapters as I can and trying the make the very best ones I possibly can. I have three chapters already written and will post them as internet allows.

In this book, I am testing a writing style I dreamed up on my own (as far as I know). Over my years of reading fanfiction, I have noticed the excessive use of "was" and "were" in books instead dreaming of more creative ways to describe a scene. So, as a way of rectifying this, I will attempt to write a book with the least use of "was" and "were" possible.

All verbal communication and thought processes will have them. I am only removing them from the non-verbal communication. I thought it would sound super weird if my characters never used them, so I'm allowing them for normal conversation.

At the beginning of every chapter, I will list the word count, the "was" count, and the "were" count so that all of you may see. I really want to know what each of you think about this idea and the story idea in general so please review and let me know!

Oh, and one more thing, this will be rated M because of drug use and murder/assassination. I'm having fun with this book so don't judge! It'll be the first M book I've written so I'm looking forward to this!

sarahandmarquis

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Word Count: 2117

"Was" Count: 2

"Were" Count: 3

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CHAPTER 1:

 _Tap. Tap._

Bubbles rose in the clear liquid of the syringe. Trembling fingers found the bulging purple vein and pierced the delicate skin with the needle. A strong thumb pressed the plunger, driving the sweet liquid into addicted vessels.

A hesitate sigh rushed through the user as the wonderful depressant coursed through his body. In moments, his muscles relaxed, allowing him to breath calmly. Years of opiates had ruined any high he might have gained from the experience, but still allowed him a peace unable to be found in anything but that lovely needle.

Once more at harmony with the world, the gaunt figure rolled his swivel chair away from his work desk and across the tiny room to his computer. Pressing the "on" button on his laptop, he watched the slow contraption boot itself up and present him with a password screen.

Boney fingers tapped away at the short code and a deceptively fragile little finger struck the enter key. The screen turned black for a moment as the few icons loaded and a few notifications popped up to alert him of software updates.

Ignoring them, the masked gentleman clicked on the internet icon and his email pulled up. After scanning through his correspondence, finding nothing more than a few ads, not requests for work, the effects of the drug leaving him bored with anything within them, he opened a new tab and pulled up the local news and found himself disinterested within moments.

The antics of the typical criminal hardly interested him anymore.

The morphine continued its gentle flow and lulled him into a more comatose state as he landed, quite by chance, on an article discussing a new business starting in town. The title caught his attention oddly enough and, on a random impulse, he clicked the link, scrolling through the short half-page remarks of a gruntled reporter, praising the benefits of the new service.

"The Friend Shop." He whispered to himself, tossing the title and the bits of information around in his head. Apparently, an innovative entrepreneur had dreamed up an odd sight where people could rent a friend for the evening, a person of their choosing who would visit them and keep them company in a purely innocent and platonic manner.

"The Friend Shop." He repeated before closing the tab and turning away from his computer. A scowl appeared behind the white porcelain of his mask as he picked up his violin and plucked at the D string, checking the tuning despite knowing he would never allow it to be off-key.

The more his mind settled on the interesting idea, the more it drew him in, causing his mind to drift to the possibilities of having a companion, even a paid one.

Perhaps he could blame the drug pulsing in his blood, dulling his senses and natural cynicism, for his mind's inability to abandon the idea of the site, but even in a drug-induced state, the recluse couldn't deny that the thought appealed to him.

"A friend…" He whispered, staring into a space for a moment before turning back to his computer, setting aside the violin, and reopening the tab. Once more, he read through the article before slamming his laptop closed and leaving his study.

"I don't need friends." He whispered to himself as he fled to his music room, abandoning himself in his music until the betraying drug wore off. Perhaps once it had left his system, he could think properly and destroy any thoughts of ever using the site.

 _What use were friends to a disfigured addict such as me?_

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 _Ding!_

Blue eyes shot open and light feet scampered across vinyl tile. Small fingers pulled the handle of the microwave and pulled out the frozen meal sitting within, filling the small area with the scent of a cheap fish stick dinner.

A cute button nose wrinkled at the scent before slender fingers ripped the plastic from the black tray and carried the food to the rickety table, where waited a plastic fork and knife, gleaming up at the diner. The clear material clicked together as one stabbed the fish stick and the other cut at it.

The fork carried a small piece to the mouth of the eater and released its burden. The little woman wrinkled her nose against the flavor but chewed and swallowed despite the awful smell and taste.

Sighing, she lifted a glass of water to her lips and attempted to drown the fish stick before taking another bite. Fortunately, her phone chimed beside her, distracting her for a moment from her growling stomach and unappetizing meal.

Clicking the screen on, she opened the notification and scowled at the message staring out at her.

 _Hey Babe,  
I saw your picture and thought you were quite a cutie! Perhaps we can get together sometime? ;)  
Sam_

"I'm not a whore." She whispered quietly to herself before clicking reject and going to her employee profile on The Friend Shop. "So many views…so few acceptable clients. Perhaps I should be less picky." Scoffing, she clicked over to Spotify and turned on her favorite Queen album, happily ignoring the rest of the world as the lyrics of "Another One Bites the Dust" rang in her ears.

After stomaching all the fish sticks and corresponding peas, the girl ended the music and stashed her phone away in her purse. She slid a heavy leather jacket over her vintage yellow dress before pulling out her keys.

A few steps and a click later, she plodded down her steps leading from her apartment and onto the sidewalk where a ratty car waited for her, glaring at her from one smashed headlight.

"Be quiet." She snapped and opened the passenger side and crawled across console into the driver's seat. Twisting the key into the ignition, the car roared to life after sputtering and hissing for a few moments.

As she pulled into the lane and headed to her daily grind, a common thought crossed her mind.

 _Why do I even bother?_

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His hands shook. His body cried for more morphine. His fingers dug into gloved palms, inflicting pain to distract him from the cravings. He didn't have the time for another injection. Music must be written and plans laid out for his next mission.

Time was of an essence.

Abandoning his violin for the moment, he returned to his study and settled himself down into his computer chair once more. When he lifted the cover of his laptop, the article he had rejected some hours ago greeted him once more, shockingly still appealing to his cleared mind.

And, he paused to give the idea another thought.

Well, he reasoned with himself, any meeting could go no worse than previous meetings. None need know about his "jobs". If anything, he could lie easily. Perhaps even convince them that he was normal. His mind drifted, drawing images in his head of a relaxed evening spent with a friend who would laugh and smile and enjoy his company.

He had seen such things when roaming the darkness.

When he appeared, they were always ruined.

Could he not ruin his own evening?

Shocked at his own reaction, his fingers moved of his own accord and typed the name of the website mentioned in the article into the search engine, pulling up service with a few clicks of his mouse. Slender appendages trembled violently from lack of soothing morphine and nerves as he created a client account and inserted some basic information about himself, filling several of the spaces with lies.

Having no last name or legal occupation came as a bit of inconvenience. Also, the question inquiring as to his favored recreational activities surprised him. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure had no place in his life. Favorite movies: he watched none, not caring for the common themes of romance in most films. Accomplishments: none that he wished to speak of in proper company.

It wouldn't do to bring the law down on him either.

After long hours of deliberation, he finished his profile, refraining from posting a profile picture. At last, he began a search through the different people who might be an adequate companion. Once he had skimmed through several profiles, he slammed the laptop closed again.

"I am a fool." Flinging the chair backwards, he stormed out, unable to endure looking at those smiling faces filling each picture box. Pretty people populated the world and every glance through that website reminded him more of it.

When he reached his bedroom though, he paused. Perhaps there were more ordinary people there? He'd only seen a few of the profiles and the site had said they had twenty employees. Returning to his computer, he continued his skimming.

Moments before he flung his laptop against the wall, he found a picture which his eyes couldn't leave.

Beauty herself peered out at him.

Long blond hair concealed most of the face except for a button nose and blushing porcelain cheeks. One haunting blue eye gazed at him from behind her glass prison, locked inside the square picture box. Clicking on the link, her profile pulled up.

Beauty had a name. Christine Day.

After briefly scanning the few facts she divulged, the masked loner locked onto her. Scrolling to the bottom, he labored over a message to her, deciding in the end that the short he kept it the better and so contented himself with a concise transfer of information.

His fingers trembled once more, the mouse hovering over the "send" button. His breath rushed in his ears and his heart thundered from his chest. His eyes blurred momentarily before he jerked himself from an apprehension-induced panic attack.

Closing his eyes, his finger pressed the mouse.

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"Have you heard about last night's murder?" Christine curled her fingers tighter around the hot cup of coffee before shrugging.

"You know I don't keep up with the news." Her coworker, a woman who's name she barely remembered, dramatically rolled her eyes and thrust the morning paper into her face.

"You remember the suicide several weeks and the murder a month before that? Well, the police now believe they are connected due to similar evidence being found around the bodies and…" Here, she paused for dramatic effect only to have Christine read outload from the newspaper,

"'All cases presented strangulation as the cause of death'." Her coworker shot a nasty scowl at her.

"Thanks for stealing my thunder. But, isn't that crazy! This town may have its own serial killer." Her voice grew hushed and the woman even stole several nervous looks about herself, answered only by a roll of the eyes from Christine.

"I doubt we're in danger. Currently everyone who has died has been somebody important. A serial like that won't mess with us peons." Gasping, the woman, aghast, stared down at the logical blond.

"I am no peon! I am very important." Sniffing, the woman tossed her head and abandoned the newspaper and Christine, preferring the company of those who believed her to be someone. Sighing quietly, Christine glanced over the paper once more before tossing it aside.

"Murders..." She murmured, draining the last bit of her coffee, a disgusting drink but excellent for keeping her awake and functional. As the cup clicked against the formica countertop, her phone chimed, eliciting a sigh from the girl as she pulled it from her pocket and clicked it on.

Another request from The Friend Shop. Rolling her eyes, she proceeded to read the short message.

 _Dear Mademoiselle,  
I would be honored if you might consider me as a possible addition to your clientele.  
Sincerely,  
Erik Noir_

Her fingers moved immediately to the reject button out of sheer habit but she paused them in motion, rereading the message. Firstly, her cheeks stained at his proper addressing of her. _Mademoiselle_ …he appeared to be a polite sort of person. Secondly, she noted his lack of remarks on her appearance, merely inquiring she would welcome his addition to her "friends", not that she had any yet.

Curious, she followed the link back to his page and skimmed through the scarce facts given. Surprisingly, most blanks proved empty, a fact she found quiet odd. So far, any man she had met had filled their pages with important things about them, trying to make themselves looked appealing to anyone who viewed it.

This man hadn't.

Nothing except a name and a simple description:

 _A masked, reclusive composer._

Perhaps she had lost her mind but Christine smiled slightly to herself and returned to the message. After a few moments of staring at the black letters staining the white message box, she pressed "accept".


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Here is the second chapter! It's a bit of filler (so their first meeting will come in the next chapter) but I hope you'll find it to be lots of fun! I don't want to rush things with this one.

I'm going to try this idea of replying to my reviewers of in my chapters. If you would prefer I don't, just let me know. But, I am horrible at thanking everyone and my internet is slow so it usually keeps me from contact. So, we shall see if this is a good way:

 _Guest_ : I'm glad to hear it! I do hope the book keeps you hooked. Thank you reviewing!

 _cotesgoat_ : You're right there! It is strange! I appreciate your complements very much! Thank you for taking the time to review!

 _Child of Dreams_ : *laughs happily*

sarahandmarquis

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Word Count: 2162

"Was" Count: 0

"Were" Count: 0

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CHAPTER 2:

 _Your invitation has been accepted. You are now connected to the Private Messenger with Christine Day._

Golden eyes stared at the message while their owner's jaw hung ajar. Had he chosen a girl with a tendency towards insanity? Hadn't he mentioned in his biographical section that he wore a mask?

"Erik is insane." He whispered to himself, drawing away from the computer and glancing longingly at his morphine, waiting patiently for him. The drug called to him but he turned away from it and clicked through the link enclosed in the email. The Private Messenger opened moments later and presented him with an empty message box.

 _What do I write?_

His mind blanked for a moment before he began to tap away at the black keys.

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 _Dear Mademoiselle,  
Thank you for accepting my invitation. How would you like to plan our meeting?_

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 _Well, I work part-time at a dinner so it must be on a Thursday, Saturday, or Monday. Perhaps this Saturday?_

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 _Yes, that should work nicely. What time would you prefer? My days are completely free._

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 _Well, that depends on whether you were planning on a meal or not? Maybe we can just get together for the afternoon?_

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 _A meal wouldn't be an inconvenience. Unless you have someone else entitled to dinner with you, perhaps five o'clock would work?_

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 _Sounds great! And, no, I don't have anybody who'd care if I have dinner. :) So, five o'clock on Saturday. Shall I bring something to go along with the meal? I'd be glad to help even if I can't cook well. Maybe I could pick up something from the store?_

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 _Your offer is appreciated but that shouldn't be necessary. If it should become imperative, I could let you know?_

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 _Oh! By all means! Just message me sometime during the week if anything comes up._

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 _As you wish. Is there anything in particular to which you are allergic? Or, something you dislike?_

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 _Not really. I have a mild allergy to milk fat but it's very mild and only shows itself after too high of a consumption so please don't worry about it._

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 _Are you sure? I wouldn't want your day to be ruined by an allergy?_

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 _No, don't worry. I shall avoid it for the rest of the week and nothing will go wrong._

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 _As you wish. I shall be careful though._

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 _Thanks! Will we be meeting at your house or somewhere else?_

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 _My house would be most convenient for me. But, if you are uncomfortable, we could find another venue._

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 _Oh no! Your house is fine! Would you send me directions?_

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Slender fingers paused above the keyboard, too many years of instinctual hiding rearing in the head of their owner. Despite the rush of morphine, administered sometime in the middle of their conversation, his heart began to race as his fingers typed away the address and directions.

Years ago, he had built his house as a refuge away from human contact. But, on Saturday, all that would change. A girl would be welcomed into the dark mansion, plans drafted from the depths of his creative mind. The basements held morbid secrets, memories of his prior years. The attic's locks held fast, hiding away his music, piles of creations that would never see the light of day.

Sandwiched between them, two stories worth of living spaces which had only ever heard one foot tread, one voice, one presence.

In mere days, it would change. The laughter of an innocent woman would grace the few rooms he would allow her to see.

 _Will she run away the moment she sees who has solicited her company?_

His eyes drifted downward to coiled fingers, boney, gray-tinted. Purple veins weaved just beneath the skin, and tendons twitched under the pressure. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his soft, black leather gloves and slid them on, covering the gray digits from sight.

Retreating from the computer, he found his way to his spacious closet, the back wall hung with fancy suits and his black cloth costume. To his right, ties in every possible hue of gray and black draped over hooks. To his left, a single pair of black dress shoes gleamed at him.

Above them several rows of masks eyed him, their dead sockets mocking him. Several concealed his entire face while others revealed his mouth. One, crafted of rubber, almost resembled a human's face but the rubber shimmered, even under makeup, and the cheeks never moved properly.

Most of them, crafted of light porcelain or plastic, rounded the sharp bones of his face and gave the nose he sorely lacked.

Lifting one of the full-face masks off the hooks, he removed the soft cloth he generally preferred and slipped it on, tying the ribbons behind his head. Turning up his collar, he hid bits of his gray neck unreached by the edges of the mask.

He couldn't always rely on shadows.

Original instinct had urged him to use the rubber mask, a futile grasp of his at real life and normal appearance, yet the girl had no doubt read his information and would be expecting a man hiding himself with a mask. Her senses would only be disturbed by the abnormalities of the rubber.

No matter the difficulty, she must be at complete ease. Her endurance would already be strained with any mask at all; best she not have to pretend the reality of something false.

The painful plastic mask it would have to be.

Comfortable with his "outfit" for his evening, he removed the hard mask and donned the cashmere one, the soft material far more gentle on the delicate skin than the cruel plastic.

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The pen scratched at the paper, ink following the trails which the hand guided it. When complete, the writer capped the pen and tossed it into a drawer, examining the address before her eyes.

Granted, her whole life hadn't played in this town. She didn't know every nook and cranny of the countryside, yet she had prided herself that, during the last several years she had familiarized herself with most of the important roads.

How had she missed this road and this house?

Admittedly, if his biographical information told the truth, he didn't have many visitors and likely had chosen his home as far away from traffic as possible.

After tucking away the information inside her purse, she added the date and time to her phone's calendar before walking to her closet, nothing more than an intent into one wall of her bedroom. Equipped with a metal bar and collapsing door, the space held her small collection of shoes, lined perfectly against the back of the closet, a few work uniforms, washed and pressed, several pair of comfortable jeans, one with a few tears, and two tops to be worn interchangeably with the jeans when t-shirts wouldn't suffice. Against a wall, hung her two elegant dresses.

"Should I wear black?" She asked herself, looking at the black dress sheathed in plastic to keep the dust off and preserve the cloth. "No, that is far too morbid and might look like a date. Maybe red?" Shaking her head, she disregarded the red dress for the same reason.

Once she had given up finding a dress and determined to make a pair of jeans looks as nice as one possibly could, she noticed the edge of a night-blue skirt, hiding behind her other dresses. Pushing her two nice dresses and work clothes to the side, she unhung the antique dress.

Sixty years behind in style, the dress had been her grandmother's pride and joy, used for her prom then her wedding during the forties before stored away because of changing styles and modest weight gain. Upon her passing, Christine's aunt had found it and gave it to her, aware that no one would ever dream of wearing it except for her.

Running her fingers over the soft material, she slipped off her sweats and slid on the dress. The cloth hugged her slender figure, clinging to her waist and flaring off her hips. The neckline dipped low, revealing a thin line of skin almost to her navel, a problem solved moments later with a thin white tank top.

A string of blue beads and white calf-high boots later, Christine turned in front of a full-length mirror, admiring her outfit. The boots slimmed her feet and calves, the low heels accenting their lean elegance. The flared skirt narrowed her waist, encircled by a thin white belt. Blushing happily, she chose the outfit and hung it carefully once more in closet.

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Food – who knew it could be so troublesome?

Mademoiselle Day has mentioned a mild allergy to milk, something he paid great attention to while crafting the meal. The evening after their initial conversation, he had drilled her for information on said allergy and discovered, much to his relief, that she could consume cooked milk harmlessly.

Only, cream cheese, sour cream, alfredo sauce, as well as real butter, had to be expunged from the menu, removing multiple things from his lists of dishes.

After scouring the cookbooks, unopened for years and dust-covered, he found a recipe for _Matelote_ , a classic fish recipe from his home province of Normandy. She hadn't mentioned a dislike for fish or onions.

With the fish sent for, he prepared detailed instructions for Saturday. In-depth cleaning of every surface would be done throughout the week but final touches would be made during the afternoon. At four-thirty, he would prepare the _Matelote_ and greet her. A glass of wine and some crackers of some sort would make a fine appetizer.

Nerves knotted his stomach and he nearly dropped the pen clutched in his spindly fingers. No one had ever told him that a relaxing evening could provide so much stress.

 _Perhaps I should call it off?_

The thought lingered long in his head, it's simplicity appealing. Ten years would stretch into eleven and on into twelve and twenty.

 _I don't need people._

Hanging his head, he dropped the pen and pressed fingers into his eye sockets. The pressure relieved a building headache and brought him back to reality. A freak of nature he may be but a coward he refused to become. He would face Beauty and see if she ran from the beast, not that he would blame her for it.

The tips of his fingers trembled and the siren call of the needle lured him, promising relief from the stress. His list now complete, he gave in, drawing a syringe and sending himself into the euphoria that the seductive drug offered.

His violin would appreciate the attention for a few hours.

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Dust proved a formidable adversary.

Tenaciously clinging to every horizontal surface, the particles triumphed over the duster and subsequent vacuum used to remove them. Only the spray of polish followed by a rag tore them from their moorings and cleaned the surface they had inhabited.

The previously gray couch gleamed white once more. The dark hardwood floor reflected the sunlight streaming through the windows. Coffee tables, end tables, even his dining room table once swathed in dark shadows welcomed the light of the sun through the wide-open windows and relished in the touch of the summer evening breezes.

Waxing followed mopping and unused rooms shone.

Between cleaning rooms that might be used during the evening, Erik researched female preferences, proper conversational subjects, and current etiquette behavior. His private library proved unable to aid him so he consulted the town's public library's online resources.

The more he read, the more he panicked.

In the end, he slammed the computer shut and snatched up the dusting rag, concluding he would try to manage on his own.

If Beauty found him old-fashioned, he would endure her stares and discomfort. It would be nothing compared to what the mask would cause. He refused to believe that she might find it the least bit endearing.

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Her fingers, trembling, fluttered over the skirt of her dress, smoothing the contours and pleats. Her eyes closed while her lungs gasped for breath. Chest heaving, she fumbled with the clasp of her necklace and the zipper on her boots. Standing shakily to her feet, she peered into the mirror and brushed at her hair, pleased that the blond strands obeyed the brush.

A blue clip held back her cowlick and pieces of her bangs, still not long enough to tuck behind her ear. Her blue eyes, caught by the colors of her outfit, shimmered beneath their blond lashes. A pinch later her white cheeks blushed pink through the thin layer of concealer. A red tongue nervously licked pink lips before she turned away from her image and rummaged through her purse, finding her keys and the directions.

Taking one last deep breath to strengthen herself, she left the small apartment, head high and shoulders tight.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, this is the last of the chapters that I have previously written. All updates from here on out will be posted Wednesday or Friday as I have something. They won't be every week (unless I'm on a real roll) but if there is something, it will be then. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to review!

sarahandmarquis

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Comment Replies:

 _Child of Dreams:_ Thank you for reviewing! Your reviews always make me laugh.

 _Gijanie (Guest):_ I fully intend to continue as I am thoroughly enjoying writing it!

 _Phantomislife (Guest):_ Thank you very much! It was my intention to make something different. I am happy to see I am so far succeeding! I hope this update was worth the wait.

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Word Count: 3148

"Was" Count: 0

"Were" Count: 0

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CHAPTER 3:

Tires ground on gravel, the car bouncing every time a wheel dropped into a damp pothole. Black trees waved over the county road, almost obscuring the dying afternoon sun. The ending refrains of "The Show Must Go On" faded away as the wind caught a small twig and carried it in front of the car.

Rocks shifted as she turned the wheel, rounding a corner and slamming on the brakes, a washed-out bridge laying immediately in her path. Shifting the car into park, she clambered over the seats and out of the car, walking over to the edge of the drop, a creek rushing twenty feet below her.

"Well, this is just dandy." She muttered to herself. "Now how am I supposed to get there. Did I miss the driveway?" Glancing behind her, she shook her head and stepped away from the precipice, covering her eyes to remove the dizzying image from her head. "No, I couldn't have. It must be beyond." Surveying the area, a small foot path, leading to a narrow foot bridge across the water caught her attention.

Glancing once at her car and considering the possibly that her phone _might_ be able to find a connection, she pressed the lock button and eased down the traitorous path, several rocks and branches reaching the bottom long before she did.

Heels digging into the soft earth, she finally reached the foot bridge and mounted the wooden structure, pleased to hear no creaks and only one groan from it. Inches beneath her feet, the brook rushed, slapping against stones and spraying her white boots with a thin layer of water. A fish swam past her vision, his silver sides catching the dying sunlight filtering through the overhanging trees.

Confident in the boards beneath her feet, she advanced over the foot bridge and ascended the lightly-worn path leading up the opposite bank. Using a few low branches, she pulled herself onto the top and looked down the road, seemingly unending.

"Well, I've gotten this far. I might as well go on." She whispered to herself, hooking the long strap of her purse cross her body and striding onto the gravel road. Rocks crunched and shifted beneath her feet and several times, pretty stones caught her eyes but, the steady ticking of her mental clock reminded her she would be late if she didn't press forward without distraction.

At least, she wouldn't have to exercise.

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The clock chimed five. Then dinged to remind him of the half hour. Repeatedly, he logged into his Friend Shop account to check messages, but only Beauty's profile picture greeted him, smiling prettily from the glass prison.

The page refreshed several times, each time showing nothing except his last message accepting her excitement for the evening. Has she changed her mind? After racking his brain and rereading her biographical page in search of an answer, he realized how little he knew of the girl visiting him.

 _Does she have a boyfriend? Are her parents still alive? How many friends does she have? What sort of work does she do? What are her interests?_

No answers surfaced to his questions.

His fingers trembled despite the addition of an extra dose of morphine that morning, a sedative he had hoped would calm him. His mind whirled with possible reasons for her unexplained absence. _Her boyfriend surprised her with something she couldn't turn down and she forgot about me._

Refresh. Nothing.

 _She couldn't find my house and gave up on everything._

Refresh. Nothing.

 _Her car crashed and she is stranded._

Refresh. Nothing.

 _Her car crashed and she is dead!_

Shaking his head violently, he pressed fingers tips to his temples and gasped several deep breaths. _I was so close! So close. She gave me something to look forward to in this life. I had a purpose during this week._ Tears hung in the corners of his eyes and he turned away from the computer. The delicious smell of the prepared meal, which had sparked hunger in him, turned his stomach.

Dress shoes clicking against the hardwood, he trudged towards the kitchen, intent on destroying his masterpiece.

 _Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong._

Pausing mid-stride, he turned down a hall, his front door glowering at him and concealing the identity of his caller. The shadow shifted on its feet and brushed something away from its face. His breath caught in his throat and his feet turned to lead.

While his throat spasmed, the shadow rang the doorbell again before fidgeting. Gathering what little remained of his courage, he approached the door, shying away as if the door handle intended to bite his hand if he dared to attempt to turn it.

Hand connected with brass and the door swung wide on perfectly oiled hinges.

A vision in night blue turned to face him.

Her profile picture, a mere headshot, hadn't done her justice. The night blue brought out blue eyes peeking from behind golden hair. The dress, an antique, accented every sweep of her elegant figure and ending at her knees, hinting at the dancer's legs concealed then on by white boots.

His gaze shifted to her eyes and her face, searching the perfect mouth and inquisitive eyes for any hint of discomfort or fear.

Surprisingly, he found none. If anything, embarrassment rang through her blushes.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" She exclaimed, fisting her hands at her sides and periodically glancing at him before looking away. "The bridge was out and these boots aren't made for walking." His eyes followed hers down to the white boots, slightly muddy from the walk.

"Please…think nothing of…it." His voice caught in his throat as he stepped away from the doorframe. That silvery lilt nearly robbed him of the power of speech. "Do…come in." His fingers frantically tugged at the edge of his dress coat.

"Thank you." She breathed, brushing the mud from her boots onto his doormat. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too much." A blond cowlick fell into her face and she dug around in her purse for a click to tuck it back.

"Not at…all." Surely she heard his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs heaving for breath? Blessedly, her eyes drifted over the ornate hallway, her pretty mouth dropping open as she turned in a circle.

"Your house is so beautiful!" She exclaimed, shooting him a kindly smile, unware of the bolt of delight and nerves that shot through him.

"Thank…you. I built it…myself." A hint of pride escaped and he sought to take the words back, desperately hoping it hadn't appeared as if he fished for complements.

"That's amazing! You compose and do architecture. I'm impressed!" Heart souring, he bowed slightly, acknowledging her praise, before shifting the subject to something else. The mask proved essential to hiding his momentarily giddy expression.

"Thank you…again. If you would follow…me. Supper is…ready."

"Oh! Is that what I'm smelling? It smells wonderful but I don't recognize it. What is it?" She asked, following him and fiddling with the strap of her purse.

" _Matelote._ It is a dish from…Normandy. I learned it as…a child." _Too much! Too much!_ His brain screamed at him to stop dolling out undesired information. Though, a smart person would have picked up on the lingering French accent and a truly brilliant person could have narrowed it down neatly.

"I shall look forward to it. I've never had it or even heard of it before." A weight of doubts dropped onto his shoulders.

"I hope it is…worthy."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Beauty consoled him, laughing lightly as they entered the kitchen.

Moments of silence ensued as he dished out the dinner and served it in the dining room.

More moments elapsed as wine bottles clinked against champagne glasses.

At long last, when he had set up everything and taken a place at the opposite side of the table, four chairs' distance away from her, she whispered a hushed thank-you and fixed her eyes on the meal. He heard the catch in her voice and regarded her, noting a decided drooping in her facial expression included with a nervous twitching of the eyes.

"Is something wrong?" If the meal displeased her, he would make something else! Anything to bring back the smile he'd momentarily seen in the entryway.

"No…" She trailed off before slumping her shoulders. "Yes." Panic flooded his body, turning his blood cold as he turned to face her completely, prepared at all costs to exterminate the problem but her words halted him. "I really have no idea what I'm doing." A deeper blush stained perfect cheeks as she found the silverware far more interesting than the floor or his face. "I've never done this before."

"I...I haven't either." He confessed, studying the fish and onions swimming in his plate. "You're the…" He stopped, biting his tongue and refusing to go on.

"The…what?" She inquired, studying him intently beneath blond eyelashes.

"The first person…I've spoken with…in ten…years. I have no idea what I'm doing either." Both shared an awkward chuckle before an idea dawned on Christine.

"Perhaps we should sit closer?"

"Ah…yes…perhaps that would…work." He replied, rising to move his seat nearer hers but she raised a hand to stay him. Quietly, china clicked against silverware and feet shuffled across hardwood, followed by a scraping of chair legs and she sat next to his left arm, her hands almost brushing his black gloves.

Never had leather felt so constricting.

Muscles contracted beneath the clean leather and tendons tightened. Blood thundered in his ears, nearly blocking out all sounds. Harsh breaths escaped with every spasm of his lungs. Controlling the trembling in his extremities, he picked up the fork and stabbed a chunk of fish, slipping the piece under his mask, grateful for the shadows in the room.

"Tell me about yourself. You mentioned you were in France as a child?" Her eyes avoided the awkward exchange between his mask and the fork and focused on her meal.

"Ah…yes." He set the fork aside, ashamed of having forgot the difficulty that eating presented. _Maybe she won't notice if I don't eat anymore?_ "I was…born there."

"That is so neat! What is France like? I have always wanted to visit but things always happened once we had saved the money." For a long moment, her blue eyes lingered on the fork and his folded hands.

"It's...very nice. The summers and springs are beautiful. The hills and meadows are filled with flowers. Snow still caps some of the mountains and keeps the streams flowing cool and clear." He commented, tucking his hands beneath the table and fiddling with the cloth napkin draped over his lap. _Keep everything general. Don't tell her your history._ Despite the shadows gathering with every moment as the sun lowered behind the trees, he felt as if a spotlight had locked onto him, illuminating every emotion, every thought.

"Sounds wonderful." Her voice adopted a dreamy tone as her spoon paused above the dish.

"Tell me…about…yourself." _Anything move the subject from me._

"There isn't much to know. I'm a very boring person." Her eyes drifted down, blushes creeping up her neck as she took another bite.

"No, please tell. I'm sure you are…more interesting than...I." Laughter bubbled inside her and escaped her mouth, bringing light into her eyes as she playfully swatted his arm, unware of the freezing of his heart and twisted expression hidden beneath the white porcelain.

"Hardly! You compose music and build beautiful houses. I can't do anything. I work at a diner and never went to college." Struggling to ignore the warmth spreading through his arm from the brush of her fingers, he searched her comment for something with which he could begin a conversion.

"Why did you never go to college?" He asked, unsure if he had broken the rules of propriety by inquiring. If some dark family secret or painful memory haunted that choice, he would never forgive himself for reminding her of it.

"My mother died." _I will never forgive myself._ "I was a month away from going to college. When she passed, I couldn't afford it so I went to work. I was hoping that one day I might be able to go back. You know, save some money and try again."

"I'm sorry." He replied, deciding an Iron Chair would prove a more comfortable seat than his current position. "I…should not…have asked."

"It's okay." She replied, finishing the last of her meal. "It was an honest question deserving of an honest answer. Besides, it is something a friend would know." A smile echoed across her face, blue eyes caught brilliantly in the last rays of the dying sun. He inclined his head toward her, accepting her declaration and hoping his excitement at her remark didn't show.

Even after several social blunders, she still wanted to be friends.

"Are you finished? Or would you like seconds?" Declining with a shaking of her head, she stood up, taking the plate with her and said,

"I'm finished. Here, let me help with the dishes." Gasping, he shook his head and bounded to his feet, taking the plate from her while carefully avoiding any physical contact.

"No! Let me." He gathered them up and carried the dirty plates and silverware into the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. Following him, she retorted,

"But, I want to! It isn't fair that you do all the work. You made dinner, I'll clean up. Show me where the aprons are." She requested, folding her hands across her stomach and lifting up off the heels of her feet. He opened his mouth to retort but the hopeful look in her eyes and excited smile halted him. Wordlessly, he turned to a drawer and withdrew a simple black apron.

"I am more than willing to do them." He tried once more, retaining the apron in an attempting to relieve her of the burden. Never had he intended for her to do any sort of manual labor while visiting his house. If anything, she had to be treated as a goddess, worthy of worship for even considering remaining in his presence.

"And I want to." She snatched the apron from him, fingers brushing the back of his hand and leaving sparks in their wake. His breath caught in his lungs, a problem growing increasingly larger the long she remained in his home.

Watching her tie the strings behind her back and roll up her sleeves, he fiddled with his hands, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. Black-gloved fingers coiled and clinched before releasing. Water flowed into the basin, building bubbles in the stainless sink. A nightjar's call reverberated in the small kitchen, the tiny bird's tree branch just outside the window, the perpetual two-tone call spaced in irregular patterns.

"Would you appreciate some music while you work?" He suddenly asked, finding a way to make himself useful despite her sudden hijacking of his kitchen.

"Oh, yes! I love music. My father used to play the violin and I loved to listen to him play for hours and hours. He never was particularly good at it but we always had so much fun that we never minded the mistakes." For a few moments, she reminisced before turning to face him, soap suds falling off the tips of her fingers into the dish water.

"If you wish…I could play…the violin?" While truly the instrument of his choice, he could find another that would satisfy her desire for music if memories would be too strong with every pull of the bow.

"That would be wonderful! I haven't heard the violin in so long. Thank you!" The joy dancing her blue eyes gave him the courage to retreat from the kitchen and fetch the black violin and its bow. Shaking feet carried him back to her, still scrubbing away on the china, intent on making it sparkle.

"Anything in…particular you would like…to hear?" He asked, tucking the violin beneath his chin and suspending the bow over the strings.

"Maybe Paganini Caprice No. 1?" She turned to him hopefully. "Do you know it? I used to have a CD with it on it and I would beg Dad to play it but he always said it was too hard and he couldn't learn it."

"Yes, I know it well." He took a deep breath and attacked the lively piece with great vigor. His fingers skipped and pressed the strings while the bow hummed through the air. Lifting his eyes from his flying fingers, he watched her. Lips curled peacefully, her eyes danced with the music and her hands flew through the washing.

Soon, a neat row of two plates, two forks, and two spoons adorned the dish drainer. The piece slammed to a halt just as she draped the wash rag over one edge. Spinning to face him, she enthusiastically clapped.

"That was beautiful! So beautiful! Even better than the musician on my CD. I've never heard –" Seven chimes of a clock ended her outflowing of praise and wiped away some of the happy smile. "Oh, I got to go. I have to work at six tomorrow morning and I'll need my sleep." Her shoulders dropped as nimbly untied the apron strings and folded the black cloth, setting it aside on the counter.

"I understand." He replied, setting his violin aside with greatest care. His fingers trembled, reminding him that a dose might be necessary soon. And, his email remained unchecked for the past three days. One couldn't abandon one's profession for so long. "Will you…" His voice trailed off, quiet tones fading, hands clinched in front of him and eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Will I what?" She asked, gathering her purse from the counter.

"Will you…want to…" He paused, gathering his courage, "come back?" Gold eyes met blue. How many times had he broken social rules? Not to mention failing to eat with her when he had invited her over for dinner. _She won't want to return. It was so nice of her to endure my presence for this evening. But, she won't want to come back._

"Of course. If you'll have me. I had a wonderful evening and we could probably become great friends." Something uncurled inside his chest, spreading warmth through his entire body. Her boots struck the floor twice, drawing her near enough to grasp his frozen hands inside her hot ones.

"I…" All logical thought drained from his brain the moment her bare skin touched his gloves. _Warm. Soft. Curved._ "Yes." He finally choked out, unsure if the words matched hers.

"Wonderful! Now, I better go. I'll see myself out. Thank you so much for the music and for dinner! Message me and we can plan another meeting!" She called over her shoulder as she walked from the kitchen, leaving him with hands still burning from her touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Sorry this chapter is a little shorter. As I've said before (I think), I'm wanting to take this slow. Also, we get a new character! I hope you enjoy!

sarahandmarquis

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Word Count: 1753

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 2

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CHAPTER 4:

The car door slammed shut and fingers quaked as she thrust the key into the ignition, starting the vehicle. The radio flipped on, some soft strains of music floating, un-noticed, past her ears, while a blast of warm air from the vents struck her. Smoothing the lines of her skirt and adjusting herself in the seat, her white boot pressed the brake and her hand shifted the gears of the vehicle. Tires ground against the gravel and dug into the mud of the ditch as she turned her car around and drove back down the deserted road, casting her mind back over the evening.

 _He wasn't lying when he said he wore a mask._ She thought, recalling vividly to memory the white plastic, binding his muscles and hiding all expressions. Unnerving cat eyes had peered at her, revealed only in the darkness, reduced to pinpoints barely visible during the light to remind her he had eyes beyond the black depths of the eye-holes.

As her mind cast back upon his physical form, a realization dawned on her.

"Not a single of inch of skin was showing." Her hands tightened on the wheel and her breath caught in her throat. _His whole body was masked._ Brakes squeaked as the car rolled to a stop at the stop sign leading to the main road. No cars in sight, she pulled into her lane and drove homeward, a smile creasing her face.

 _I'm sure everything will be great despite this. He's probably just eccentric. I'll allow him his oddity. Besides, he plays so beautifully!_

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Soft strains of a violin carried through the house, the horsehair bow pausing periodically to allow the composer to scratch the notes onto staffed paper. Fresh ink, barely dried, oozed from the first letter of the title: _Christine_.

Golden eyes clamped shut, the writer swayed with the music, loathe to stop even to scribble down the notes and markings. His muse's face, locked inside his brain, spurred him on and drove his talents to dizzying heights with every notation and mark on the paper.

 _My finest work._

As the melody of the piece sang to an end, a perfect image, formed by music, of Beauty captured his mind's eye. Struck painfully by the intense power, he snapped open his eyes and lowered the violin into his case, clicking the bow into place and snapping the locks shut. Turning to face the piece, he blew lightly on the ink to allow it to dry. Fingers trembling with excitement and slight trepidation after the ethereal image, he retreated to his grand piano and began to craft the bass.

Skeletal fingers pressed the keys, allowing the powerful voice of the instrument to ring clear. If the melody had created an immaterial being, the bass gave her life, strength, and solidity. Captured in the throes of his creation, she danced before him, a shaft of light framing her in the darkness of his composing room. Quick feet leapt about the hardwood floor, long dancer legs elegantly arched in the air. Her hair, long and blond, drifted about her face, shielding her eyes from his.

Tearing his eyes way from his vision, he ripped himself from the piano and fled, shaking violently and nearly tripping, to his work room, desperate to escape the powerful piece this haunting vision had spawned.

Having hushed his craving before taking to his violin, the morphine remained quiet as he pressed the start button and booted up his computer. Work wouldn't wait forever, after all. Updates properly ignored, he opened the browser and pulled up his email. Several unopened messages greeted him, three commissions for musical work and one from an undisclosed sender.

Leaving it for last, the commission attracted his attention first, one for a new movie and the others for video games desiring his talent. Fair prices were offered and those earned them a reply email requesting further information. The last message, appealing to his other talent, drew his attention only for a moment before being disregarded.

 _The price isn't nearly high enough._

Closing the computer once more, he yawned, surprising himself. _I suppose I have had a busy day._ Rising from his swivel chair, he retreated to his bedroom before exchanging the plastic mask for the cloth one. Painful red spots had formed on his high cheek bones, not deep enough to be sores but worthy of attention.

One finger dipped into the jar of suave and gently rubbed it into the injured skin. Any longer and sores might have formed. As going mask-less would never be considered, he allowed the cashmere to sling to the raw flesh before entering his bedroom and pushed aside the coffin cover. Descending into the black abyss of his sleeping arrangements, he folded his arms across his chest.

 _Come quickly sleep._

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Bills lay scattered across the kitchen table. An advertisement for TV service decorated the top of the messy pile before finding itself hurled into the trash. The bills, rapidly catalogued into appropriate folders, disappeared from table, leaving only a few dirty lunch dishes to clutter the scratched surface.

The bowls, caked with the remainders of yogurt and grapenuts, found themselves ducked into a sink filled with water, abandoned to soak. White boots padded against the vinyl flooring before treading their way through the carpeted hall to the tiny bedroom. Queen posters, made up of many album images, hung on white walls beside a tiny twin bed, covered in a folded King-sized comforter.

Fingers tugged down the zipper on the white boots and kicked them off, toes flexing. The dress hit the ground and a nightgown slipped over the dancer's figure before Christine tumbled between the folded edges of the comforter. Tucking the corners of the bedding around her chin, her fingers fumbled with the charger before setting aside her phone to charge.

Despite her exhausted muscles, her mind wouldn't slow. Memories of her evening raced through her brain. On her way home, she had pushed aside any pessimistic thoughts that might have entered her mind, but, as she lay hidden between the thick blankets, they crowded her.

 _Is he as safe as you want to believe?_

 _Will he hurt you?_

 _What is he hiding beneath that mask?_

 _What is his history?_

 _Why would he sequester himself in a mansion?_

Her finger tips tingled with the recollection of the bone and sinew beneath the fancy silk suit he wore. Black gloved-hands had played the violin so beautifully, the thin material not for warmth but for concealment. _What did he have to hide?_ Surely, he didn't mean to hide the form of his hands as the black gloves revealed every angle and sharp line of his fingers.

Every thought that ran through her brain bred more discomfort in her heart. While the paycheck for her services would be helpful with supporting herself, and decreasing her Conservatory debt, she wasn't sure if the money would be worth the possible danger that she might have put herself into. A quick cast through her brain, reviewing the details of her budget.

"Look like it will be worth the danger." She muttered to herself before tugging the heavy comforter over her head and falling asleep.

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"Working late again, Gul?" A rookie leaned on his forearms on the desk of his superior and flickered his eyes over the information flying by on the computer. The smell of smoke hung about him, recently acquired from a smoke break, combined with the linger whiffs of coffee.

"Of course. This robbery case is nearly solved. A few more details and the thief should be bagged." He tapped a button and the screen shifted to a pipes screen saver. "Why are you here? The boss need something?" The rookie nodded, standing up and rocking on his heels.

"Yep, he wanted me to tell you that you needed to go to his office. Apparently, there is something secret going on." The boyish face parted with a smile.

"Then you shouldn't be blabbering about it." Gul remarked, shoving his chair back and striding past the boy towards the boss's office. His combat boots, his preferred footwear over the dress shoes worn by most police officers, thudded on the tile floor, echoing about the empty rooms and hallways of the nearly deserted police station.

Approaching the office door, he shifted his shoulders beneath the suit jacket and turned the handle, opening the door on well-oiled hinges. A small office, sparsely decorated, and equipped with a desk, a computer, a single rolling chair and several large filing cabinets tucked into corners of the room.

"Dalir! Thank you for coming, Close the door behind you." The portly leading officer turned away from the darkened window and gestured for Gul to occupy his rolling chair. Accepting his kindness, he settled into the seat and turned green eyes to face the chief.

"I was informed you had some secret information you wanted to talk to me about." He prompted.

"Yep. Remember the case, about ten, eleven years ago, when we flushed that assassin?" Gul's dark eyebrows knitted together as he scanned through the years, sorting through information logged for the specific years.

"Yes, I believe I remember. Something about strangulation. We missed the guy but no more reports were given so we had to drop the case due to a cold trail. If I remember right, the guy had quite a nasty history and even a more unpleasant appearance." Pulling a pocket knife out of his pocket, he cleaned beneath his fingernails.

"That's the one. Well, he's back." He pulled some photos from his pocket and tossed them on the desk in front of Gul. "The evidence is the nearly the same. Similar method, similar people. We have narrowed down his possible living location to Daisy, North Carolina. We need a man on the ground to find him and bring him in." Gul flipped from the photos, images of purple faces causing him to wrinkle his nose. On several pictures, the necks were visible, revealing thin red lines coiled about their throats.

"Exactly like the previous deaths. And I gather you want me to go after him?"

"You did it last time." Gul sighed and tossed the pictures aside.

"My wife won't be happy about me leaving. Especially with the new baby."

"If you catch him, it will be the crowning achievement of your career." Gul flung the idea about his mind for several minutes before sighing once more.

"Give me the details."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Welp, welcome to Chapter 5! I know I'm posting early, as I said I would post on Wednesdays or Fridays (as I had a chapter) but, I'm not going to be around on Wednesday and not in town on Friday. And, Fanfiction is allowing me to update it (surprise!) so, you get a chapter early! It's not a lot of story. Mostly just relationship building between the two. I know I introduced plot at the end of the last chapter but it may be a bit before he comes back, depends on what this book decides to do.

Oh well.

And, I wish to extend my deepest apologies to those reviewers for Chapter 3. I completely forgot in my haste to post Chapter 4. Thank you so much for your consideration for reviewing! They were much appreciated.

Review and let me know what you think of this chapter!

sarahandmarquis

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 _Child of Dreams:_ Unfortunately, this story won't be all fluff. But, there will be much of it!

 _cotesgoat:_ Thank you so much for your help! I didn't catch that and I am always happy when a reviewer spares me embarrassment! Again, thank you! And, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I wanted to write a book with clever writing and your review has encouraged me! I trust this update will be enjoyable to you.

 _Rainbow Pierrot:_ He is! I love shy Erik! Thank you so much for reviewing!

 _Guest:_ How did you guess he was the Persian? Well, I suppose it isn't too hard to guess that. After all, unique name, part of the police department. A good Phantom is rarely complete without the Persian, whatever his name may be in the book!

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Word Count: 1780

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 2

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CHAPTER 5:

 _Hey, I don't know if you're around or not but I was wondering when we were planning to meet again?_

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 _My sincerest apologies for my late reply. I was unavoidably detained. Yes, I would like to meet again. Perhaps the same time and day as before?_

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 _That would work. I'm going to be working that day until four so maybe about six?_

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 _Yes, I will be ready._

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 _Great! Would you like me to bring a movie or something? Maybe you can play your violin again?_

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 _Feel free to bring whatever you want. I do not really care._

The words bit him and his mind taunted him with chants of "liar" while he clicked the send button, watching the text box appear below her message. For years, he had avoided films with great enthusiasm. Handsome people, falling in love with other handsome people, disgusted him instead of grieving him.

 _If she even considers bringing such filth into my sanctuary, our business deal is over._

His heart rebelled instantly against the painful idea. To never have her return, to never see the face of Beauty herself, it would be worse than enduring two hours of misery at her side. At least, if she were with him, he could enjoy her smiles and happiness, perhaps to the exclusion of whatever destruction of humor and romance played out on the screen.

Tempted as he had been to recant his comment about not caring, he resisted, occupying his fingers with plucking the violin instead of typing a recension.

For Beauty, he would endure even the sappiest of flicks.

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 _Yay! I'll bring my favorite movies and maybe a couple board games._

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 _Sounds wonderful._

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Closing the lid of her computer, Christine left the messenger and walked over to her small movie shelf. On the top shelf, Marvel and DC movies waited patiently for her attention, usually only appearing whenever their owner found herself in an odd mood. Below them, entire collections of _I Love Lucy, Andy Griffith_ , and _The Three Stooges_ chuckled at her, tempting her to begin a marathon that would last several days.

Tucked beneath them, her favorite movies awaited her attention, aware they would always end up being picked, whether guilty pleasure or good movies. Smiling, she pulled out the stack and spread them across the pressboard coffee table before plopping herself down onto a torn couch.

"All right. _Labyrinth_ , _Gunslinger's Revenge_ , _The Mask of Zorro_ , _Angel and the Badman_ , and all my Sherlock Holmes episodes and movies…" She trailed off and pushed aside _The Mask of Zorro_ , concluding he wasn't likely to find an action movie with sweeping romance, and a willingly masked protagonist, to be his preference.

"That would mean _Angel and the Badman_ is out too… He probably doesn't like westerns." Smiling sadly, she set the VHS aside. "Besides, he probably doesn't have a VHS player." Glancing between the three remaining movies, she sighed quietly, holding up _Gunslinger's Revenge_.

"You have to go as well. I would hate to scare him way with one of my guilty pleasures. And, it's a western." Sighing, _Gunslinger's Revenge_ found itself on the pile of rejects. Looking back between the two sets left, she sighed and hung head in frustration.

"How can I choose between you two! I love both of you." Jeremy Brett and David Bowie peered up at from the cover at her, both their faces tempting her to take them both. "Oh, great. Y'all are both coming with me. He can pick." Scooping up the cases, she carried them out to the car and stashed them away in the back seat, being sure to lock the door so no one would steal them.

Confident in the safety of her children, she tucked herself into her apartment with a bowl of popcorn and a heavy blanket to enjoy _Gunslinger's Revenge_ as a way of apologizing to the little mess about not picking it.

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 _She will be here soon!_

Erik paced back and forth in the entrance hall, wringing his hands and adjusting the uncomfortable plastic mask. His cheeks, rubbed raw from the previous meeting had yet to heal completely, leaving him with the high chance of sores.

Already one sharp cheekbone had broken and bled.

Fingers twisted between themselves, tangling black gloves and pulling tendons. Several knuckles cracked. His gut tied itself in knots, irrational fear that she wouldn't like the meal he had prepared overtaking him.

 _What if I step wrong?_

 _What happens if I make some great error? I must have done well enough last time but what if something happens?_

His addiction had been properly sated earlier in the evening and the monster wouldn't require feeding until long after she had left.

 _I will not have to worry about that. Unless she stays very late._

The doorbell chimed.

Hands trembling, he turned the door knob and allowed her inside. Smiling, the blond angel in white swept into the house, beginning an instant bit of chatter about how nice the weather had been the whole afternoon and something about sadness for missing it because of work but his eyes focused only on the items tucked within her arms.

"What are those?" He inquired, torn between resignation and the tugging feeling of excitement. The covers didn't appear to brightly colored or composed of intricate artwork. Clutched as they were to her chest, he couldn't see the titles, leaving his mind to stew over the tortious possibilities. Her fingers loosened around the cases as she hung her up purse on a hook in the hallway.

"Some movies. I didn't know what you would like so I just brought my favorites. Maybe after dinner we could look through them?" A sparkle of hope touched blue eyes and Erik bowed his head in consent.

 _At least she will be happy with her choices. I shall content myself with her pretty smiles during the duration._

"A wonderful idea. Shall we… eat?" She nodded, setting the cases aside and shedding her light jacket.

"Let's go! I'm starving."

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"Oh, that was delicious!" She exclaimed, settling back and lightly patting her belly in contentment. "You should have been a chief." Clinking the dishes together, she gathered them together and ushered them off to the kitchen before he could comment or complain.

Following her, he attempted to fuss but she hushed him with a wave of her hand, dunking the gravy-covered dishes into a sink filled with soapy water.

"Do you want to leave them to soak? Maybe we can look through the movies?" Her gut, busy with the fine meal, paused to twist into a fine knot.

 _What if he doesn't like them?_

 _What if he thinks I'm weird?_

 _I mean, he's weird but he might want to be around a normal person!_

"Yes, that would be…nice. What did…you bring?" He asked, bracing himself for idiocy.

"Labyrinth. You know, that '86 film with David Bowie?" The name fell familiar upon his ears but he failed to place its importance or place in his life. "And, the Sherlock Holmes Granada series. By far the best _ever_ made. The BBC is great and all and Benedict Cumberbatch is a wonderful Holmes, but nobody can replace Jeremy Brett." She paused for a moment and laid her and over her heart. "May he rest in peace." Sweeping by him, her perfume slipping beneath the mask and reaching his nasal cavity, strong enough for even him to catch a delightful whiff of.

 _At least one sounds somewhat sensible._

"Which one would you like?" She asked over her shoulder, turning slightly to give him the view of a pretty blue eye framed in golden locks.

"Sherlock Holmes, please." He responded, grateful for the sensibly of at least one of her options. "I am… somewhat familiar with his… cases. Um…those books were some of the few… that I enjoyed."

 _One of the few classics that offered a stretching of the mind and some mental escape._

"Yay!" A spring entered her step, her hands clapping together as she scooped up her precious collection and turned for him to lead the way. "If you enjoyed the books, you'll enjoy these." Her skirts swished prettily about her legs, lean now he paid attention to them. Blushing beneath the mask, he kept his eyes above her neck and led her into the living room, an abandoned room in his house.

"You don't spend much time here…do you?" Her eyebrow arched.

"No…I prefer my office or composing room." _To have a proper living room, one must first live._

"Then, let's make up for lost time." Her eyes flickered between the cases in her hands and him. Boots shifted on the hardwood floor, creaking one board as the weight changed. "I suppose we can begin with the first…" She bit her lip and cautiously handed over the first season, her eyes pleading with him to be very careful.

 _I'm holding someone's most prized possession._

His finger shook faintly as he stepped over and fiddled with the TV and DVD player, leaving her admire the room she stood in.

Redwood made up the floor planks, the color and grain perfectly complementing the white upholstered settees and chairs. A set of chairs found their home in a corner, surrounding a redwood card table. Two couches, one plush and the other svelte, sat at an angle to each other, the V created by their position pointing directly at the TV, braced against the opposite wall between two high windows.

Music played and drew her attention to the TV and the masked gentleman kneeling before it, the mask illuminated by the electronic glow.

"Are you ready?" She asked. "Is it working?"

"Yes. Please, find yourself a seat." Without a moment of hesitation, she sunk into the unused cushions of the lavish couch and tucked her feet beneath her skirt. Erik withdrew from the TV, passing her the remote and found his place opposite her on the settee.

After clicking through the menu and beginning with the first episode, Christine eyed him before patting the place beside her.

"Here. Sit here with me." A grin covered her lips as the intro played in the background. He hesitated, limbs shaking and heart threatening him with failure.

"Won't you be more… comfortable with me… over here?" Shaking her head, she again patted the seat cushions. Reluctantly, he settled beside her, careful to keep all things belonging to his person at least an inch from her.

 _I doubt she will enjoy a moment with me beside her._

Her head found his shoulder as she snuggled against him, warding off the slight chill in the room, just as the episode began.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

Dear Readers

Yes, you read correctly. I have posted twice in two days. I hope you like it! It surprisingly only took me a morning and an afternoon for me to write it. I suppose I was inspired. Don't forget to review! I love every one of them.

Oh, and I've decided to start including a disclaimer. Just for formalities.

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. I do not. I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot. (Should I be proud of that?)

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Reviews:

 _Child of Dreams:_ Haha! I love it to! One of the best movies ever made. And, I will very much consider your suggestion! I had temporarily forgotten about that movie and it sounds like a fun one for them. Thank you! I'm sure this chapter though will make you happy! Especially the end. :)

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Word Count: 2020

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 0

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CHAPTER 6:

She fell asleep.

Beauty fell asleep.

Halfway through the middle of the fourth episode, she drifted off, finding his shoulder a comfortable pillow despite the sharp angles and boney makeup. The episode played, unnoticed, in the background while he stared at her sleeping form, chest rising and falling slowly. A bit of hair fell against her ruby mouth and thin hairs blew with every exhale.

Her eyelids fluttered and she nosed his shoulder, trying to burrow in and meeting only the harsh lines of bone, covered in thin layers of muscle and sinew.

Fearfully, he slipped away from her, carefully catching her limp form and laying it against the airy cushions. She stirred for a moment before drifting deeper into sleep, her legs tucked uncomfortably under her body.

"What am I to do with you?" He whispered, kneeling beside her and clinching his fingers in his lap. Noticeable goosebumps covered her upper arms. The great temptation to brush aside her hair assaulted him but he resisted, rising and fleeing the room under the excuse of getting her a blanket.

The fleece quilt rarely left the closet, too thick for his tastes. Thin sheets and a light blanket when the winter turned cruel and he forgot to light the fireplace had always suited him well enough. Running his fingers over the thick sheepskin, he searched the fibers for anything sharp and found none.

Tucking the blanket under his arm, he returned to the living room and spread it over her, prodding the edges of it around her body, careful to keep from touching any skin. He turned away from her, retreating to a small fireplace, struck a match and lit some scraps of newspaper. The paper turned black and curled behind the thin line of coals spreading up it, soon flaring and catching the thick logs on fire. Something popped within one of them and scattered coals on the hearth.

A poker provided the necessary encouragement for the fire to spread through the logs and sticks, a neat blaze building and beginning to warm the room.

 _She will be much warmer._

The TV drew his attention, the entire episode complete and the menu music loud and distracting. Terrified of waking her, he clicked off the TV and spun to examine her, lightly poking her covered shoulder, relieved to see she slept on.

Her feet appeared from beneath the blanket as she stretched, revealing boots that had to be uncomfortable to sleep. Glancing between her and her feet, his fingers hesitantly reached for the zipper, locking her calves inside stockings and white leather, before he yanked his hands back and sprang away, retreating from the room to leave her to sleep in peace.

The boots wouldn't be too much of a problem. If anything, they would keep her feet warm.

 _I shouldn't touch her._

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 _-You have reached the Gul household. Please leave a message after the beep-_

"Keeya? You there?" The aging officer attempted to stretch out on the short hotel bed and failed, deciding to bend them at the knee for greatest comfort while he tucked the cellphone under his ear. "Rookheeya? Just wanted to let you know that I got here safely. Call me when you get this message." The cellphone clicked off and he tossed it onto the nightstand, groaning as he sat up.

"All right. Let's see if this internet will connect." His computer started, the fans whirling underneath it. After entering his password, the icons and task bar blinked into visibility. He clicked on the internet connection and went through the steps before pulling up his email, the message at the top holding the link he desired.

"There we are." He muttered, opening it and clicking through, The Friend Shop webpage pulling up immediately. Flowers and stock photos hovered around the white background, the login page asking his full name and email.

Several minutes went into creating his account, completed with a different identity. Profile ready, he found the list of employees and quickly skimmed the name, taking several minutes to find the name he searched for.

"You are beautiful…" He noted, once he located her and skimmed through the profile. "It is a shame that you, one so innocent, should be caught up with so dangerous a fellow." A few quick clicks, a short and to the point message, and a request shot its way to her inbox.

"It is a shame. You appear to be a nice girl, Ms. Day."

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The chimes of the clock woke her.

Half-asleep, her brain attempted to record the number of chimes but failed, leaving her with a conclusion it had be after 2 o'clock. She shifted inside the cocoon of blankets, surprised to find it so warm and soft; her bed had never felt so comfy.

And, since when did she own a clock that chimed on the hour?

One blue eyes pried itself open and as soon she cleared the sleep from the eyelids, both snapped open and the girl bolted upright in her make-shift bed, the fleece blanket tumbling off of her and falling to the floor.

A fire, recently stoked, burned merrily in the hearth, logs popping occasionally, and cast shadows against the walls. The redwood floors nearly glowed in the orange light. Despite the heat of the fire, she shivered and tugged the blanket back over herself, surprised to find a cushion under her head.

"I can't believe I fell asleep…" Gasping and covering her mouth, she blushed, embarrassed about her drowsiness. "Where did he go? I really must apologize." Unwilling to abandon the blanket when exploring the house would cause her to leave the fire. Standing up, she swayed once on her feet, wide-awake in mind but hardly awake in body. The blanket secured about her shoulders, wrapping around her several times, she left the living room, entering the hallway and glancing both ways before turning opposite of the front door.

The clock on the wall read 4 o'clock in the morning.

After wondering for a moment if she should just disappear without a word and hope he wouldn't bring it up next meeting, she shook away the thoughts and stepped down the hall, her hands trailing the woodwork and fancy wallpapering before touching the edges of a door. No light shown under it so she continued.

"Perhaps he is in his bedroom, sleeping? I really shouldn't wake him up." Curiosity drove her onward though, up a flight of stairs and down another corridor.

A faint strip of light appeared at the end of a corridor, along with the fading strains of a violin.

"Oh, Erik." She whispered and darted down the hall, booted feet making almost no noise on the carpet strip.

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 _She will sleep longer._

He determined, setting aside his violin once the piece had been completed. His fingers shook, the tell-tale sign of his addition resurfacing. Taking a long breath, he settled into his swivel chair, the springs squeaking with his light weight.

The wheels rolled along the hardwood, arm rests striking the morphine desk with a thud. The needle, waiting since an hour before, gleamed up at him, clear fluid offering him peace and calm with the mere pricking and plunging.

Thinking nothing of it, he bared his arm and slipped the needle into the vein, eyes drifting closed as the syringe carried the morphine into his blood stream. As the last of the clear liquid drained away, a knock on the door startled him from his moment of relaxation, causing his hand to jump and rip the needle unceremoniously from his arm.

The wound began to bleed.

Ignoring the injury, he ripped the sleeve down to hide the scars. Heart racing from the shock, he spun to face the intruder but only heard a shy voice inquiring,

"Erik, are you in there?" Despite the drug flooding his body, his hands started to shake again and the syringe clinked against the table, a shameful secret, abandoned in his haste to reach the door. As his hand reached for the handle, he paused, terror taking him over. Frantically, he cast about the room.

 _It is dim enough. She won't be able to see._

Breathing easy, he opened the door slightly, enough to allow him to see her, standing bundled in the white fleece, gold curls tossed from sleep, and blue eyes shining brightly in the little light his office afforded.

"Christine, did you… sleep well?" He asked, only then noticing the drip of blood escaping his cuff.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for the loan of your couch and this blanket. They were both very comfortable. I'm so sorry to have fallen asleep. I didn't mean to, really. I guess work too more out of me that I though." Christine hung her head and a faint blush stained her cheek, visible through the veil of golden locks. "I just wanted to thank you for your graciousness. I really must be going." She gave him an embarrassed smile before beginning to turn away.

 _She should leave._

"Wait. Don't go." He searched his mind for a reason. "It's four in the morning. You shouldn't be out on the roads… at this time of night. Uh… there is a lot of woods between this place and your home. It could be dangerous. At least stay… until sunrise?"

"I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience. I mean, I've already imposed on your sleep schedule." He shook his head.

"I don't sleep much… at all. Usually, I don't sleep… at night so it was… nothing." He wouldn't deny though that sleep tugged at his eyelids even as he addressed her.

"But, I've interrupted your composing. I'm so sorry."

"No, I was just… playing. I wasn't working on anything… in particular. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate? Or, maybe… some tea? Something warm… perhaps? We could return… to the living room and watch another… episode… or the movie you like?" He offered, hoping to tempt her to remain with him until dawn.

"As long as I am not imposing on you…" She answered, turning her gaze up at him.

"Not at all. One moment and I will meet… you down stairs." He nodded slightly to her and closed the door, waiting a moment until he heard the soft tread of boots against carpet and rushed to hide the morphine and bandage his arm.

 _Thank all deities above she didn't enter the door after knocking._

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Feet once more tucked beneath her, Christine cradled the cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Only a few minutes had elapsed between her arrival down stairs and his meeting her in the living room, mask straightened and suit organized. After asking her what exactly she desired, he had immediately disappeared into the kitchen, pots and mild muttering in a foreign language followed, and moments later, he joined her again, baring a tray filled with cookies and a cup of hot chocolate.

"You won't join me?" She asked, taking a quick sip and enjoying immensely the milk and chocolate tasted combined with nearly boiling temperatures washing down her throat.

"No… I… do not partake of sweets."

 _Even if I did, one can't when wearing the plastic mask._

"Oh, I didn't mean to put you at any trouble just for my sake." Quickly, he shook his head and reached hands towards her pleadingly.

"No! No! I… enjoy seeing you… smile." He blushed, turning his eyes away from her and retreating towards the TV. "Would you… like me to… turn something interesting on?" Her mind danced between the options and she peered up from the fleece blanket pilled around her svelte form.

"How about _Labyrinth_? I think you might like it. It's an odd film to watch at an odd hour." As interested as he was in continuing with the episodes, he acquiesced to her choice and turned on the film, settling on the same couch as she sat but on the opposite corner to watch the credits play out.

She smiled at him from behind the mug and it made up for any disappointment.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Sorry for the long wait and unusual posting day. I completely forget yesterday and am leaving down this morning so I couldn't do it Friday. I hope you like it and don't forget to review!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Whatanidea15:_ Hehehe! Not yet…

 _Child of Dreams:_ You're welcome!

 _Phantomislife (Guest):_ This makes me so happy! I love it when my readers enjoy and look forward to my work! I hope this chapters lives up to expectations.

 _monarch27_ : We shall see… *evil grin*

 _Katie B (Guest):_ He would freak, wouldn't he?

 _Lunacat (Guest):_ Aw! Thank you!

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Word Count: 1913

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 1

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Chapter 7

The plucking of violin strings woke her from her second nap of the night, this one upright and wrapped cozily in a nest of pillows and the fleece blanket. Light, streaming through one of the high windows, stung her pupils. Rubbing her eyes, she turned away and saw Erik, possessing perfect posture, picking a string to test its tone.

"Ah, Mademoiselle." The violin found a comfortable spot on the settee as its owner abandoned its curved body to consult the sleepy girl on the couch. "You're awake."

"When did I fall asleep again?" She asked, stepping out of the cocoon and scowling at the wrinkles over her entire skirt.

"When Sarah, Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus reached the Goblin City. You missed... the best song of the whole… movie." The corners of his mouth tugged upward but he stymied the expression. _She is so beautiful, just woken._

"And, that song would be?" A teasing smile trembled at the edges of ruby lips and a spot of glitter sparkled in blue eyes.

"'With In You.'" He replied, catching the blanket before it tumbled to the ground and draped it over the back of _her_ couch. "The entire set up was inspired. And, the music was nice."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You… looked…" He hesitated to tell her exactly how long his golden eyes had lingered on her sleeping form before he fetched his violin. "As if you needed rest." He concluded, leaving the real reason unspoken and a moderately truthful comment between them.

"I probably did. I didn't realize I was so sleep. I'm sorry for falling asleep on your couch a second time. I won't do it again." Red stained porcelain cheeks beneath the smudged makeup _. Once was bad enough! But, twice!_

"No!" His vocal cords acted without restraint. Shame flooded his face and he ducked his head. "No, it's… not a problem." Turning from her, he absentmindedly rubbed a morphine mark beneath his sleeve. "You are… uh… free to sleep here… whenever you need it. The couch is yours." _I'll never sit on it again._

"That's not necessary! I wouldn't want to intrude." Her fingers fluttered busily over wrinkles and one finger discovered a lock of hair to tangle around itself. _I am an embarrassment. I barely know this man and I'm already sleeping on his couch as if I were an old friend._

"No intrusion." He assured. "If the couch is not satisfactory, there is a spare bedroom."

"You have a spare bedroom?" Tilting her head, adorably, her eyes pierced his, asking the question he had long demanded of himself. _Why had he ordered a spare bedroom made, airy with flowered wallpaper?_

"Yes… I don't know why…" He trailed off and, noticing his knees trembling, took advantage of the settee opposite her. _It's not as if I have visitors._

"It's always good to have a spare bedroom. If for nothing else than for storage." She stretched, joint popping quietly under the gentle strain. "It's very kind of you to offer but I don't know if it would be proper." A gentle smile caressed his eyes before she reached out and brushed his hands, locked across his boney knees.

"Ah, forgive me." He whispered, voice barely carrying beyond the mask. _I must have missed the social rule. I hope she won't hold it against me!_ "Are you hungry?" Abruptly changing the subject, he bounded to his feet and broke all physical contact. "Surely you must be? Supper was… a long time ago."

"Oh no, I'm fine. I usually don't eat breakfast anyway." _It won't matter to him that is usually because I don't have anything for breakfast._ "I'll just gather my things and go home. I have to be at work in two hours anyway." Soft feet struck hardwood floor as she grappled for her white boots and socks, items of her outfit which had been quickly shed during the runtime of the movie in favor of more comfortable seating. Folding her skirt in ripples on her thighs, she yanked the simple white socks up her calves and tugged on the boots before locking the zipper and tucking the edges of the socks into their white confines.

"If you're sure…" While attempting to occupy his eyes elsewhere from her legs, he fiddled with his hands before clasping fingers behind his back. "I wouldn't want you to go home hungry."

"Don't worry. I won't. But, I really do have to run." _Maybe next time I will be more professional._ Standing up, she breezed by him towards the entryway where her purse still hung, unexpectedly abandoned overnight. Snatching it off the hooks, she slung it over her shoulder just as he followed her.

"If you must." He replied, still attempting to breath after the breath of light perfume still clinging faintly to her form.

"Thank you for letting me sleep. I'll try to do better next time."

"Please, think nothing of it." Seeing she needed a little reassuring on that point, Erik attempted to form words. "I…" _How does one comfort a lady?_ "What are friends for?" The words rang terribly cliché even to him but what else could he say?

"I shall defer to your judgement. So, uh, same time next week?"

 _Ah, the bed comment wasn't too much of a problem. Oh good._

"Yes, I don't see why not. Be safe driving home." His eyes softened and she smiled before stepping out the door before she paused,

"Take good care of my children." Chuckling quietly to herself, she scampered down the steps and away through the thick line of trees.

 _I will._ Ignoring the faint ache in his chest at seeing her hurrying away, he returned to the living room and gathered up her "children." _There is only one place secure enough for all of you. Now, what was the code to my safe?_

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"I'm late! I'm late! I'm so very much late!" A purse skidded across the kitchen table, teetering on the edge before tumbling to the ground. Boots clicked on the tiles before padding softly on worn carpet, only to find themselves unceremoniously tossed into a corner of the closet. The white dress, still wrinkled from her night spent on the couch, landed on the floor, kicked to the side by a slender foot.

Grasping hands yanked work clothes from their hangers and tugged them over a dancer's lean body, buttoning the buttons to the neck. Ratty tennis shoes found themselves laced over thrice-worn socks, completing the outfit.

"One quick check for messages then I have to leave." The gasping Christine declared, running from her bedroom into the kitchen and scooping up the purse with the scattered objects. After digging around for several moments, her fingers curled around her phone, buried in the bottom of the bag. She pulled out and skimmed quickly through her Facebook notifications, brushing many of the friend requests aside.

"I don't even know the people who are our mutual friends. I most certainly don't know you." Perhaps it didn't help that all the friends she had were two old high school chums who hadn't spoken to her since graduation, an ex-boyfriend who, if pictures told any kind of story, had a happy marriage and a baby girl with the woman he'd dumped her for, and, one of her mother's dancing troop, who had been present at her mother's funeral and offered a shoulder to cry but hadn't shown her face since, let alone responded to the former eighteen-year-old whose naiveté had thought she might answer.

A comment regarding her pitifulness later, she closed the app and refreshed her email, shocked to find among the myriad of ads and coupons, a friend request from The Friend Shop.

 _Dear Ms. Christine,_

 _If the company of an aging cop isn't offensive to your taste, I would be honored if you would consider me for an addition to your clientele. Please respond at your earliest convenience so, if you accept, we may arrange a meeting at the restaurant of your choosing._

 _Yours sincerely, Nadir Khan_

"Well, at least he's polite." After studying his profile picture for a moment, the green eyes framed in dark bronze features and graying hair casting a fatherly light on the viewer, she clicked on the picture, leading her to his profile page.

Simplicity reigned in the completed form, filled with just enough information to interest Christine but leaving enough to allow for some conversation during a meeting.

"I don't see why not." Pressing the accept button, she tossed her phone back into her purse and thought little of her newly acquired client in her mad rush to get to work.

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 _Your invitation has been accepted. You are now connected to the Private Messenger with Christine Day._

"Excellent. Maybe she knows something of this creature." Bronze fingers tapped a shot glass before the officer downed it. "Tonight, I will message her. and, perhaps with some very little luck, I will catch him before the month is up."

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Violin strings dug into the strong calluses, turning the skin red from over-use.

"A break then." He declared, setting aside the precious instrument and tucking the several sheets of paper dedicated to his newest muse in the case. His latest commission taunted him from the corner of the table, the demand a simple piece hardly taxing on his skills as a composer.

 _I shall do it tomorrow._

Noting his trembling fingers, he abandoned the music room stepped down to the hall to his office, where a prepared syringe awaited him, his seductive lover the only one who desired his body. A needle prick later, his weary veins bore the poisonous load through his system, allowing him a moment of quiet before his free hand flicked open the computer and checked his email, empty of any new correspondence.

A desire to see his muse's face drove him beyond his email to her profile page and several moments passed filled with him studying her face before concluding one day he must draw her.

 _She will make any piece of art divine_.

His eyes flickered momentarily from her face to one word in the lower left-hand corner which read "Friends." Before, the number one had occupied the space, a bit of selfish consolation on his part that she had no one else to compare him to. His severe flaws couldn't have been seen so easily with no normal human set in her mind for comparison.

The number was now two.

The morphine failed in its job for a moment as his heart spasmed in panic and he immediately clicked on the number to see if he could find the name of this new "friend" of hers. _Who is my composition for her time?_

"Curse you!" He shouted at the monitor when several futile attempts brought nothing, not even a name to his eyes. _Apparently, they like secrets._ It didn't even cross his mind how helpful the feature was to him.

When the moment of jealous panic had passed, horrified realization jammed its way into his brain.

 _She'll leave. She'll know how much I've failed in my duty as a friend and a host. Goodness knows how many social rules I've broken, unable to be repaired even by the grandest and most sincere of apologies. Not to mention the crime of this face._

Shattered, he lowered the crime into his hands and shook with pent up pain.

"I'm losing Beauty."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Again, I apologize for an odd posting date. In the words of the infamous Diva "dese things do 'appen!" And, I know it's shorter than the rest have but I wanted to get out there since I've haven't given y'all anything in forever.

In my defense, I've been on a trip! So, there were ten days missing already.

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Lunacat (Guest):_ Jealous Erik is so adorable! And, we'll see what Nadir does... I hope this chapter follows along with your idea of "keep up the good work!"

 _Whatanidea15:_ That he is!

 _Melstrife:_ Along with mine.

 _Child of Dreams:_ He's a bit of a hardhead so I don't know if he'll ever understand that. Haha!

 _Phantomislife (Guest):_ I'm so glad to hear this! Thank you!

 _cotesgoat:_ He is a detective after all. He's paid to be sneaky! Haha!

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Word Count: 1502

"Was" Count: 0

"Were" Count: 1

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Chapter 8

 _Ms. Day, I am pleased you have accepted my request. Where you would like to meet? I had thought maybe a restaurant might be a nice place for initial contact?_

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 _Yes, that would work. I'm free Thursdays and Mondays. What would work best for you?_

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 _Perhaps this upcoming Thursday? We could meet at McKee's for lunch perhaps? My treat._

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 _That would be great! I enjoy their food a lot. Good choice. Will one o'clock work?_

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 _I will be expecting you. Until then, Ms. Day._

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 _Until then._

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"Ms. Day?" A tall, middle-aged gentleman, skin stained a dark tone and eyes shined emerald, rose from the red-leather booth to greet her amid the hum of conversation in the café. Shyly brushing a lock of golden hair from her face, she gave him a pink-lipped smile and held out her hand in greeting.

"A pleasure, Mr. Gul." She responded while he gestured for her to sit opposite him at the slightly rocking table. She sank into the booth, the red leather squeaking when she scooted into the middle. Nervously she smiled at him and folded her hands into her lap as the waitress walked over to them and refilled his cup of coffee and left two menus beside them.

"So, you said you were a cop?" She said, attempting to start a conversation. He smiled and flipped open the menu before responding,

"Yes, I retired a year ago from Atlanta PD. I moved here with the hope of finding a relaxing place to spend my retirement." He gave her a kindly smile, showing lightly stained teeth from too many years of drinking coffee. She laughed quietly, opening her menu as well.

"You've come to the right place. This is a small town where nothing much happens. A few weeks ago, a man was killed and he is still the talk of the town." Laughter touched her face while she remembered her coworkers' conversation just the day before on the subject.

"I heard about that but didn't get that week's newspaper. What do you know about it?" He set aside the menu and leaned his elbows on the table, eyebrows knitted together and lips pressed into a tight line with eyes locked onto the blond opposite the table.

"Well, he was murdered in his home by strangulation. The police thought it might have been a cord of some sort but because the weapon wasn't left on the scene they couldn't be sure. One of the detectives said the death reminded him of several other ones that had been happening over the nation and it's sparked the notion that we have a serial killer."

The waitress returned at that moment and took their orders, paying particular attention to Gul, biting her lip and winking at him as she strolled away, heedless that his green eyes were occupied elsewhere at that moment.

"Serial killer? Do you think he lives around here?" He asked, noting she seemed perfectly calm under his scrutiny.

"I don't know. I'm not the police. They've happened all over the country, there is just as much of a chance of him living here as anywhere else someone was killed. Isn't it also possible that he's a regular traveler? Like, a salesman or a truck driver?" Casually resting her elbows on the table, she locked her fingers together and rested her chin on her fingers and locked wrists. The door chimed and a mother and three children entered the store before he spoke again,

"It is possible. I wonder if they've considered that." He sipped on his coffee while she peered out the window at the lazy city street and lone stoplight outside the family restaurant.

"I'm sure they have. But, I'm not going to worry myself over it. If his victims say anything about him, he prefers the wealthy and important. He won't be coming for me."

"Or me." Gul laughed as the waitress returned and gave Christine her glass of water. "Tell me about yourself, Christine. If we're going to be friends, we probably should know something about each other."

"There isn't much interesting to know about me. I'm very ordinary." A pretty blush shown through her light makeup, darkening the hint of rouge on her cheeks.

"I'm sure there is something interesting." He prompted, enjoying another sip of coffee.

"Well, I was born here to a Russian dancer and her American husband."

"There is a story! How did they meet?" He asked.

"My mother, Anna, danced in the Novosibirsk Theatre Ballet since she was little girl. My father traveled the world and while he was in Russian, he attended performance of Swan Lake. Mother was dancing that night and Father was smitten from the first moment he saw her. He romanced her for the few weeks he was in Russia and, when he left, he swore to return and marry her." She smiled to herself, looking down at her hands, her mind far from the little family diner. "He kept his promise and took her with him on a world tour for the honeymoon. When she became pregnant, he brought her home and I was born here twenty-two years ago."

"That is a romance straight from a novel!" He exclaimed. "Were they a happy couple?"

"The happiest. They were normal, they argued, they annoyed each other but they never stopped loving each other. She loved him more than she loved dancing. People called her crazy for giving up a rising career as a prima ballerina to have a family but she never looked back. Only when my father died did she return to dancing. Someone had to support the family." The smile vanished from her face, her blue eyes dimming in brightness, the happy glow fading from her skin.

"I'm sorry." He reached over and squeezed her hand before the arrival of the meal interrupted his next words. The moment gone, he changed the subject to a lighter topic.

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The hotel AC whirled in the background, the faint smells of cigarette smoke still wafting through the room from the cleaners. The bed creaked beneath him as he sank against the lumpy pillow and skimmed over his notes from his first meeting with Day.

Scooping up his phone from the bed cover where he'd tossed it upon entering the room, he clicked through his contacts and found the name he searched for. Tapping it, he called the number and listened as the ringing sounded in his ear. The phone picked up moments later and before he could even say a word, the voice on the other end questioned irritably,

 _-Gul, why are you calling me? I told you not to call me until you had evidence.-_

"I just met with Day. As I thought, she's perfectly innocent." He crossed his legs at the knee and stared up at the ceiling, picturing clearly the annoyed look on his boss's face at the moment.

 _-What is your plan now?-_

"I had hoped you'd have an idea. How do you even know this guy is him?" He questioned, frustrated with the most recent brick wall in the innocent form of Christine Day. "We're looking for a psychopath. A psychopath wouldn't keep someone like Christine around."

 _-We don't know if we're looking for a psychopath. We don't know who we're looking for. That's your job, find out about this man. Find out about these few threads that our tech analyst found that might connect these two.-_

"I'll keep trying, sir. Next time I see her I'll ask her about her other 'friend'." He sighed and closed his eyes in frustration, shifting his place in the creaky bed.

 _-Good. Keep me posted.-_ A decided click in his ear singled the ending of the conversation and he tossed the phone aside, deciding a nap headed the list of things to do.

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The black lettering of the email glared from the bright light of the screen into the dark room and onto the porcelain white face of its receiver. The harsh reality of his "side job" flared in his face. The price…too hefty to turn down. A week's journey away from Beauty would physically hurt him but… _if I use the money for her, maybe buy her a gift or something while I am abroad…_ it would make it worth it, soothe his newly found and newly grieved conscience.

Replying to the request, he clicked out of the tab and opened the Friend Shop messenger and carefully began to type.

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 _I regret to inform you that our next meeting must be postponed. I have business out of the country that requires my attention. I apologize profusely for this inconvenience. Please forgive me._

Any elation regarding her day plummeted when the message appeared in her inbox. Light pink lips drooped in a frown while she slowly entered her reply,

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 _All is forgiven. Message me when we can resume our meetings. Travel safely._


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Yeah, okay, so my posting dates are basically suggestions now. Sorry about that. I mostly had them because of my internet and FF tends not behave sometimes but now, it seems to be working so, we're back on a completely random schedule.

About this chapter, it is expositionlly heavy but I think you'll enjoy how I did it. I don't intend to make this my habit for the rest of the book but this was something that worked better as a story. Please review and let me know what you think!

sarahandmarquis

P.S. For those who haven't read Wandering Son (*frowns at you and instructs you to go read it*), I posted at the end of the first chapter note involving my Tumblr account and the AU POTO writing prompts I am now posting on there. Please go read Wandering Son (It's adorable!) and check out that note.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Whatanidea15_ : Yay! I'm always happy when I make my fans happy! I hope you keep enjoying yourself!

 _Child of Dreams_ : We'll see! I'll take it into consideration. :)

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Word Count: 1997

Was" Count: 0

"Were" Count: 0

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Chapter 9

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Boredom. Since when did he experience boredom? The hotel room, stereotypically adorned with abstract art and natural colored walls, kept him awake for hours on end while his mission denied him internet access. _No one can trace me_.

His fancily tailored suit itched his back and relentlessly tickled the sunken sections of his stomach. Fidgeting, he stood up and braced himself for the mirror in his bathroom, assuring himself that the skin mask still fit his face perfectly. When his golden eyes locked into his skeletal figure in the mirror, he visibly flinched, revolted at the sight of himself.

"I'm hideous even with this contraption." He only wore the mask for missions, not enjoying the way the rubber played across his skin or trapped moisture beneath it. The makeup, required to keep it looking realistic, had smudged a tad and he carefully fixed it. Smoothing back his hair to keep a collected look of gentility, he picked up the phone and called for the cab he had previously ordered to be waiting for him at the hotel door. His fedora set on his head, he only waited a moment to gather himself and left.

Burning in his coat pocket, the lasso waited, anxious to meet his next victim.

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"Tell me about yourself." Christine asked, spreading her napkin across her lap, Dalir, sitting opposite her at the fanciest restaurant in town. Elegant but miniature chandeliers hung from the ceilings, shedding light over every shadow they could find. Candles burned in strategic areas, lighting those dark places the chandeliers missed with a romantic glow and leaving the pretty fire-shadow against the wallpaper. The quiet scent of sandalwood wafted through the rooms, quietly humming with lovers and families.

Vine decorated archways connected portioned-off rooms, dotted with booths and a few free-standing redwood tables and chairs. Black cushions, edged in redwood, adorned the booths while the same black leather upholstered the chairs. The room spoke of regal elegance, discomforting Christine. Despite dressed in her finest dress, a black shift accented with her white boots and some silver jewelry, she felt underdressed in a place with ladies adorned with diamonds and wearing five-hundred-dollar evening dresses.

"There isn't much to tell." He replied, picking up the leather bound and gold filigree embossed menus. "Your childhood sounded far more interesting from our conversation at McKee's last week."

"Oh no, I'm sure mine is perfectly boring in comparison to you. Surely you at least have tales about the police force?" She answered, gingerly flipping the menu open to skim words she barely recognized.

"I suppose I do have some from here. And, I did grow up in France, if you care to hear about that." Her instantly perked up and she completely ignored the menu for moments as her crystalline blue eyes latched onto the dark-skinned man.

"France? You must tell me about your years there."

"First let us order. The story is a long one. Anything catch your eye?"

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 _People. I hate them._ He thought to himself as the cab rolled to a stop in front of the bustling party, many of the guests still loitering near the driveway, models draped over their arms, plying them with expensive liquor. His goal waited within though, he surmised after briefly scanning the crowd under the appearance of searching for an acquaintance.

Flashing his forged invitation, he swept past the servant, into the main entryway of the house, filled with a dozen servants bearing trays of delicacies and champagne. Gliding by them, he rejected their offers without a word, searching for the main room where the host would wait. In his search, he passed by a quieter part of the party where a couple had lost themselves in their partner.

Blocking out the sounds of the impassioned embrace, he finally found the center of the part where a middle-aged man, a perfectly fit model of masculinity, occupied multiple women fawning over him. Confident he had found the host, he moved on to identifying the members of the party, picking out a frowning red-headed woman in a tight black dress. Their eyes locked across the sea of people and she subtly winked her left eye then her right at him.

He returned the gesture and a smile spread across her face.

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"Now we've ordered, tell me everything about your time in France. I've always wanted to go." Christine inquired, ignoring her manners and leaning her elbows on the table to get comfortable for his story.

"Well, I didn't always live in France. I was born Nadir Khan in Persia. When my mother died soon after birth, my father packed up things and left Persia for good and set his eyes on France. I never learned why but I loved it so much I never asked." He leaned back and ran through his memories for a long while before continuing. "When I was four, my father took a second wife, a widow who wanted a family so badly that she was willing to raise a dead woman's child. She doted on me and became the mother I never knew. Those summers I spent with her exploring the French countryside while I was still in single digits still are some of my favorite memories.

"But, my favorite had to be the seasons of my tenth and eleventh years. We had moved into a new house and my step-mother was expecting her sixth child and, was, unlike the others, expected to carry it to term. Because Father's work would keep him away for weeks, he and Mother opted to keep me at home and hire a tutor rather than to send me to the school in Rouen." He laughed quietly and sipped on his water, adorned with an ignored lemon.

"I only studied for a few hours every day so the rest I spent roaming, mostly by myself because mother refused to leave the house for risk of losing her sixth child. One day, I wandered several miles afield and found a small house, covered in vines and appearing almost unhabituated. Being the curious ten-year-old that I was, I went to it and poked around, discovering, much to my shock, that a woman and her son lived there." His smile faded from his face as he appeared lost in memories.

"I'll never forget that boy, so shy to speak to me, so intent on covering his face from my sight. For several days, I would slip away from my studies and go talk to him through the window slats of his room, which he wasn't allowed out of. But, when I mentioned I had found this wonderful tree for climbing, he offered to escape so we could go play with it together.

"That evening it was too late for us but, we promised to meet in the bushes outside of his house the next day because his mother would be gone to Rouen for her weekly shopping. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. He was so nimble, climbing the tree before I could scale the first branch…"

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As he had thought, the man soon desired to take one of the girls outside the room and into a more private place in the garden. After overhearing the waiting place, he disappeared from the room and found the bench, overhung with an ancient weeping willow. Scampering into the branches, he slid the lasso from his pocket and perched on one of the limbs, waiting for the host to arrive at the meeting spot.

He didn't delay long, his intentions towards the woman encouraging speed.

As he paced beneath the tree, Erik poised, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He received it when he paused beneath the branch and glanced about, hesitating for a second, allowing Erik to spring on him like a panther from the branch above.

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"That day we played many of the games that normal children play but he hadn't ever heard of. Now, I know what to call him, I know the names for the abuse he suffered but then, he was just an ignorant boy I had to teach. I didn't think beyond 'how odd' when he said he didn't know how to play hide-and-go-seek." Christine reach over the table and patted his hand, her heart going out to the boy who she only knew through the stories of her friend.

"He didn't have a name, or didn't know it, so I named him Ami, French for friend because he was my friend. From that day, we were nearly inseparable. I introduced him to books and he devoured them. I brought him home multiple times and my mother adored him. When she met him, she had miscarried her sixth child and the doctor told her to never try to have another because neither her nor the child would live through it. So, she adopted him, in a way. We were close enough friends to be brothers and my mother wanted another child so badly…" He trailed off, a haunted look taking over his emerald eyes.

"What happened to him?" Christine asked, feeling pain ended his story instead of happiness.

"That is sad story."

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The lasso slithered off the dead man's snapped neck and found its back into his pocket, it's job complete. The corpse lay, head bent at a terrible angle and eyes wide open, set in purple flesh. Disgusted with the creature before him, he moved to walk away when a scream filled the air. Not remaining to see who it was, he ran for the shadows, disappearing from the party as quickly as he had come.

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"If you don't want to tell me that's okay."

"No, it's fine. When I was eleven, Ami's mother found out about us and beat him to a pulp and threw him out of the house calling him unrepeatable names for daring to make a friend. I took him back to my mother who had, I know, wanted secretly for him to run away and come live with us. She took him in instantly, bathed him, bandaged his wounds and adopted him as her second child.

"A month later, I went with Father into town and left them together, nothing new. When I came back, Mother was in her room sobbing and terrified and Ami was gone. I never saw him again and I never found out what happened. My mother never recovered and died a year later. Father got involved in the underworld and I left, changing my name to escape him and his friends. I've searched for Ami but, I had nothing to go on. Not even a name or a birthdate."

Christine's eyes dampened with tears, one crystal drop falling down her cheek only to be quickly dashed away by a hand.

"I am so sorry. To lose a friend like that has to be the worst thing." Her heart went out to both. "And, then your parents on top of it all." She found quickly she had nothing to say and instead, moved from her seat to his side and gently hugged him, patting his back.

"Those were hard years." He replied, slipping one arm around her waist before giving her a partial smile, "But, I got through and went to the academy and made new friends. But, I'll never forget him. maybe one day we'll meet. I can only hope he has done as well as me."

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He packed his bags in record time, Beauty's picture staring at him from his phone urging him to hurry back to his home. A week had been too long parted from her, though he doubted in that moment if she really had even noticed his absence now she had another "friend."

A bag crinkled in the bottom of his suitcase and he grinned.

A white cashmere shawl, a perfect gift for Beauty. An honest use of blood money.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I actually posted on my posting day! *rejoices* I am sorry though for the lateness in the chapter. I have been very busy with school and writing has had to take a back seat for the past several weeks. But, I wrapped up my first quarter and am now beginning my second so chapters should be coming more often.

I hope this was worth the wait though!

sarahandmarquis

P.S. A friend and I have just finished writing a 1989 POTO fanfic and after editing one of us will be posting it. Please review and, on top of letting me know what you think about the chapter, add your thoughts on that possibility as well. It's a full-length fanfic based only on the 1989 version. We're very proud of it and are sure y'all will enjoy it very much!

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Lunacat_ : You have your wish! This chapter is all Erik Christine scenes! I hope it makes up for them not being there at all last chapter.

 _Guest_ : Glad you liked it! Thank you for reviewing!

 _Child of Dreams_ : Agreed!

 _Yours Anonymous_ : Thank you for those recommendations. I can't say the last chapter has been the best I've written in this book. I hope this chapter is an improvement.

 _Whatanidea15_ : We shall see….*grins*

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Word Count: 1716

Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 1

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Chapter 10

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 _Mademoiselle Day, I have returned from my business trip. When would be a good time to resume our meetings?_

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 _Welcome back! The same time as before still works for me if you're okay with that. How was your business trip?_

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 _Then, we shall keep it the same. As for my trip, it was a success._

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 _You'll have to tell me about it when we see each other tomorrow. I gtg, work starts soon. Talk to you later!_

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Boney fingers loosely wrapped the cashmere shawl around their hands and slid it into a small white box, lightly patting the material into place within its confines. With the lid firmly secured with tape, scissors cut bits of ribbon from a white spool and tied them in a pretty bow around the box's sides. Carefully affixing the label, he scribbled her name in the "to" category and his name in the "from" category.

 _She always wears white. White boots, white dresses, white jewelry. This shawl should be something she'll enjoy…_

His thoughts trailed off as he tucked it carefully under his arm and carried it downstairs where the smells of the deviously-seasoned pot roast drifted through the rooms and made his stomach growl unexpectedly.

After depositing the gift at her place at the table, he stepped into the kitchen, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet smell of cooking beef flavored with garlic salt, onions, and a mix of foreign spices. A contented sigh escaped him while he flipped the switch to 'off', letting the meat sit and simmer in its juices to optimum flavor.

The clock chimed once, alerting him to the passing of a quarter hour.

 _Beauty will be here soon._

The next fifteen minutes passed painfully slow. Several times, he passed by the front door, parting the curtains to peer down the driveway and sidewalk, each time ending with his hopes plummeting when the gravel and pavement failed to bring Christine to him.

Polished dress shoes clicked against the hardwood floor in even succession while black-gloved hands fought each other, a visible demonstration of his discomfort. Golden eyes kept wandering back to the white box sitting innocently at her place, taunting him with the risks he took in giving her something.

When he had bought it, in the heart of Spain, he hadn't thought twice about it. He had seen it hanging in the bazaar in the blinding heat and knew it had to be hers. The light material would look so fine and elegant floating about her graceful form. He could picture the smile she would give him.

But now, he worried.

 _Is it possible I am breaking some rule?_

 _Perhaps she doesn't like shawls._

 _Perhaps she doesn't want anything from me._

 _It was bought with blood money after all._

Never before he had ever reviewed his accounts and felt shame. On one line, his payment to Christine for her friendship, on the next a payment to him for his killing. The difference had shocked him, sending shivers down his spine and rocking his stomach. The organ had churned and nearly relieved him of his breakfast.

 _It is a small cost, Erik, if it makes her happy._

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White knuckles lightly rapped against the black door and heels bounced against the doorsteps. The sound of knocking had barely faded when the door leapt open and the black-suited Erik stood in the doorway, white mask gleaming in the sunlight.

"Good evening!" She exclaimed happily, surprised when he responded with a single nod and stepping back to allow her inside. "The air is getting a nip to it! Before we know it, fall will be upon us." Her jacket slid from her should and hung on the coatrack next to the door. Devoid of the thin wool, she pivoted on her heels and gave Erik a smile. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Ah, yes." He said, wringing his hands behind his back and refusing to look her straight in the eye. "Yes, the trip was nice. I brought something back for you."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up brightly and clapped her hands next to her face. "I love gifts! What is it?"

When Erik gestured towards the dining room, she practically skipped in and stared at the absolutely perfectly bound present, the bow looking as if he had spent hours trying to perfect the exact knot that would look the best on the box.

"It looks so nice, I almost don't want to open it." She laughed before noticing the disappointed droop in his shoulders. " _Almost_." She corrected, catching herself winking at him before tugging on the loose ends of the bow and watching the white silk ribbon slide through the knot.

Fighting the desire to rush through and just rip off the ribbon, she slowly pushed it aside and lifted the box, staring in confusion at the pillow of white that greeted her. She reached in and touched the soft cloth, thin and warm.

"What is this…" She whispered, pulling it from the box and hanging the cloudy shawl before her, the cashmere floating around her hands. "Oh, Erik…" She breathed as he began to ramble.

"I saw it and thought you might like it. If you don't like it, I can return it. You don't like it, do you. I'm sorry!" He reached forward to take it away and nurse his disappoint in a moments worth of peace when she snatched it back and hugged it against her.

"No!" She exclaimed, tossing the shawl around her shoulder and snuggling into the cashmere. "I love it! I've always wanted something like this. How did you know to get it in white?"

"You wear a lot of white." He said, gesturing to her dress even now, a white outfit with a knee-length flared skirt with a scattering of flowers across the material. A handsome blushed stained her cheeks as she quietly laughed.

"You are right. I do wear a lot of it." Running her hands against soft cloth, she turned him, her face nearly splitting with a smile. "Thank you so much, Erik. I love it so much. This must have cost you a fortune!"

"Money is nothing." He waved away her concern over it with a flick of his fingers.

"But-"

"The music industry is a lucrative business in the niche I have found and all I have to spend the money on is property taxes." His poor attempt at a cracking a joke brought laughter to her as she twirled around the dining room, almost playing with the shawl.

"Then, I shan't argue. Just, don't bankrupt yourself for a shawl for me." She paused her spinning in front of him, giving herself a moment to return her body to equilibrium, before hugging him tightly to her, her arms gripping his neck and pressing the nose of his mask against her covered collarbone. His breath locked inside his lungs, and his heart thundered against his ribs.

The formerly faint smell of her light perfume pleasantly assaulted his nose; the warm of the bare arms burned through his fancy suit; the calming sound of her heart and breathing filled his ears. Fearful of doing something wrong, he barely lifted one arm to rest on her back.

"Thank you." She whispered into his ear before releasing him and bounding to the entryway to leave the shawl there for safe keeping. Relief washed over him as he took a moment to catch his breath. _She loved it. I did right. I made her happy! She hugged me! I would do anything for that feeling again._

"What's for super?" She asked, reappearing into the dining room, the light of joy still shining in her eyes.

"Ah, a roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions. I hope that is acceptable?" He asked, leading her to the kitchen, filled with smell of cooking roast.

"Very acceptable! It smells delicious." She grinned and, while he began to piece out the roast and sides, hopped up onto the counter to watch him. After a few minutes of running through her brain about new things in her life that might encourage conversation between then, she remembered the present of a new "friend" in her life.

"Did you know I got a new friend?" She asked, leaning over and stealing a bite of roast from the platter. He lightly swatted at her hand, earning a giggle from the playful young woman.

"I noticed on your profile page." He remarked, remembering with some embarrassment his original terror at the thought of losing her over the person. _It is still possible she will find him more interesting but she still returned and seems happy._ He glanced over at her, ascertaining from her guiltless smiling face that she was content with him. "Did you meet with him while I was gone?"

"Yep! And, he seems like a nice guy. He's a retired policeman and a widower and is lonely. We had a nice talk over dinner at the local restaurant then again for supper at another restaurant. He told me the saddest story about a friend he had when he was a boy." The smile disappeared from Christine's face as she remembered the story about the child who hadn't known his own name.

"What was the story?" Erik asked, as a way to keep her talking so he wouldn't have to find a subject with which to carry the conversation.

"Well, he grew up in France and befriended this little boy who didn't even know his own name. He taught him how to read and write and play games…" She trailed off, noticing that Erik's hand had jerked to a stop as she spoke. "Is something wrong?"

"What was the name of the boy?" He whispered as if his throat were closing in around his words.

"Of the boy or of my friend?"

"Both." He nearly demanded, turning to face her, the knife still hanging between his fingers. He didn't even notice the gravy and fat dripping onto the fancy tile.

"My friend's name is Dalir now but he changed his name from Nadir Khan. And, he called the boy Ami because –"

The knife fell from violently trembling hands, soon mirrored by the unconscious body of Erik.

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR THIS! I have my reasons. The next chapter will be up a lot sooner than these others have been so you shouldn't have to wait too long to know what happens.

I love each and every one of my readers/reviewers! Thank you so much for your support!

sarahandmarquis


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Your eyes deceive you not! I have posted early! *gasps at the miracle*. See, I told you I wouldn't elave you on the cliffhanger for too long? And, I would like to personally thank my friend, casuallllfollower (that has four "l's" in a row for anyone who's wondering) for helping me narrow down which way I wanted to go with this chapter. She helped me avoid the cliché route and pick one that I liked very much and basically wrote itself while promoting great character development (I hope). Please go follow her. She's currently got some Harry Potter stuff posted (I believe).

So, on with the chapter!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Not a Ghost3_ : I'm so glad I've got another fan! I hope this chapter is a satify addition to the book you love!

 _Phantomislife_ : You will have to read and find out…*evilly grins*

 _Whatanidea15_ : Thanks! I need all the luck I can get with school. I'm glad it made you laugh! I do enjoy adding humor if I can! :)

 _squishmich_ : I am SO happy you like this style of writing. It is hard but, now I'm used to it, I catch myself not wanting to use "was/were" and finding ways around it easier than in the beginning (but, as you can tell by the count, I still cheat a little). I kinda doubt I'll go back to the original way of writing when I'm working with my own books, I like it so much. Also, yes, this Erik isn't the usual one and I'm glad you like him. As for the details, more lie within…

 _E.M.K.81_ : Here is that wanted update!

 _Child of Dreams_ : Uh oh indeed.

 _Silver Tallest_ : I'm such a terrible, horrible, cruel author. And I love it…*evil grin coupled with evil laughter*

 _cotesgoat_ : Their friendship shall continue! This book isn't even close to being over (I hope. I'm taking my time because I want to make it good). Yes, that Erik! Always adorably messing things up! But, I'm sure Christine won't mind too much.

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Word Count: 2083

"Was" Count: 0

"Were" Count: 3

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CHAPTER 11

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"Erik!" Christine gasped, hopping off the cold counter and dropping down beside the fallen man. His chest rose and fell faintly but he didn't stir from his sprawled position on the kitchen floor. Surprisingly enough, the memory of her tenth-grade health class returned and she fetched several pillows from the living room to prop his feet up above his head. The next step her mind reminded her of made her nervous.

 _I've never touched men's clothing before, let alone had to loosen it while someone wore it._

But, he needed to be able to breathe freely so she carefully unbuttoned his suit jacket and, being very careful not to touch anything other than the metal and leather, unbuckled his buckle to free his stomach. The top buttons of shirt soon followed, revealing gray skin that concerned Christine.

 _He isn't healthy._

As the clock slowly ticked towards a minute of unconsciousness, she began to wonder if calling 911 would be a wise move. When she finally decided she would call them and had stood up to dial the number, a muffled groan escaped Erik as his eyes blinked blearily.

"Oh! Thank all that is holy!" She exclaimed, sliding down beside and hovering over him. "How do you feel? I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I'm so sorry!"

"Why are there two of you?" He whispered, reaching up towards empty air beside her face.

"You probably have a mild concussion. Let me call an ambulance and get you to the hospital to make sure you're going to be okay." She moved to stand but his hand grappled for her wrist, holding her tightly despite his weakness.

"No!" He attempted to shout, ending up merely releasing a large amount of air with the gasp. "Don't call them. Please don't. I hate the hospital."

"But I have to make sure you didn't do any serious damage." She insisted, trying to gently peal his fingers off her wrist so she could reach the phone.

"Just help me to my bed. I'll be fine." He tried to stand but his head spun and he felt backward a little ways, connecting with the floor again.

"Okay." She responded, exceptionally reluctant to move him in his state but aware he wouldn't relent. "But, if anything changes, I will call 911. You won't be able to stop me." She bent down over him and hooked her elbows under his arms, dragging him upward and using her slim body to hold his while he swayed on his feet, dizzy.

"Go up the stairs, two doors down on your left." He instructed her, unhappy with leaning against her but knowing if he tried to stand on his own feet he would hit the ground again before he could take a step. As his head lulled against her shoulder, the heat from her skin burned his skin and he realized his suit jacket hung unbuttoned.

"What did you do?" He gasped, tempted to clutch the edges of his shirt closed to keep his awful gray skin concealed from her.

"I had to loosen your clothing so you could breathe." She remarked, realizing that he had never showed her any part of his body, even the usual parts such as hands or neck and his face always carried that mask. "You don't have to be ashamed of how your skin looks. It doesn't bother me." _The pallor reminds me of a corpse but I can live with that. It's just a peculiarity of his and I don't want to lose him over something so trivial._

"Bother you!" He almost laughed as they reached the upstairs landing. "How could it not? It's hideous."

"It is not!" She exclaimed emphatically, finding that speaking the words only solidified her feelings in her mind. He began to respond when she hushed him and opened the door to his bedroom, the heavy door swinging to reveal a completely black room reminding her of an oppressive abyss.

Flicking on a light, she gasped in utter horror at the furnishings of the nearly bare room. From the center of the ceiling, sheer red curtains hung down, cloaking a spacious black coffin in a blood red light. The finest black silk lined the hardwood sides and black sheets spread through the coffin revealed its true purpose as Erik's bed.

"No." She resolutely exclaimed. "I refuse to let you sleep there. Where is your spare bedroom?" She demanded, turning to face the exhausted masked man. His golden eyes looked up at her, confusion read in the depths of the liquid gold.

"Why? What's wrong with my bed?"

"It's not a bed. It's a coffin. Please, let's find you a proper bed." She flipped the light off and he wearily gave her in the instructions for the spare bedroom, too exhausted to even fight her. The spare bedroom proved much more appealing, light and airy and colored as a proper bedroom should be. In the center, a nice four-poster bed stood with a white quilt draped over it and several throw pillows laying against the headboard.

A rosewood dress stood in one corner, the white pull-handles darkened with dust. A neat little bathroom opened to her left and a bookshelf occupied the wall beside the door leading outward. All in all, the place oozed hominess.

"Here." She gently helped him to sit down on the end of the bed and turned down the covers, helping him to lay down before tucking him under the warm blankets. "How do you feel? Are you sure I don't need to call 911?"

He slowly shook his head and closed his eyes, wincing against the light coming through the windows.

"Close the curtains, will you?" He requested.

"Of course." She stepped away from his bedside and closed them, shedding the room in darkness. "Anything else you need? Does your head hurt?" She sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly touched his forehead, frowning as he flinched away.

"I'm fine." He whispered, tendrils of shame creeping around his heart at her expression. _I'm sorry, Beauty. I'm not used to being coddled._

"Are you hungry?" He shook his head, unsure how to feel about the concern in her eyes. "Why did I lose consciousness?" He asked.

"You don't remember?" She inquired.

"It was something about your new 'friend.'"

"Yes, it was. I told you about a friend he used to have when he was a young man. A friend he called Ami because he didn't have a name. Was…was that you?" She asked, brushing a yellow lock of hair from her eyes and peering down at her patient. _What a stroke of luck! My "friends" used to know each other!_

"It is highly unlikely that I am not the boy he referred to. Did he…did he express any desire to see me again?" He sounded almost shy, scared, and it threw her off for a moment. Taking his gloved hand in hers and lightly rubbing the back to comfort him, she said,

"Yes, he did. He said he looked for you and couldn't find you. Why…" She continued speaking but his eyes focused on her fingers, hard at work. _She touches me willingly. She knows what lays beneath the gloves, ugly gray skin. I fainted on her, ruined a perfectly pleasant evening._ His mind failed to hear her words, concentrated only on the kind touch he had been denied his whole life. Her hands were so warm and soft, but deceptively strong and limber. Fingers were cut short and painted with clear nail polish. A cute white scar blazed over her right pointer finger, just below the middle knuckle. A few freckles dotted the back of her hands.

"Erik?" She lightly called him, jerking him from his stupor.

"Yes?" He stammered, glancing up into her worried blue eyes. _They are so beautiful. Sapphires locked in an angel's alabaster face._

"I asked why he wouldn't want to see you again."

"I ruined his family." He replied quietly, breaking his eyes away from her, unable to bear the expression that would surely take over her face.

"What happened?" Her voice remained calm and concerned, surprising considering that he had just told her he had ruined a man's whole world.

"His mother was a kind woman. She wanted a child so badly." His mind drifted back many years, back to when he had been a little boy craving for attention from anyone. "The woman who birthed me threw me out and I had no one else to go to. She took me in, promised to raise me as her own. Promised to love-" His voice cracked, tears gathering in his eyes despite his attempt to keep them back.

"It's okay." She whispered soothingly, slipping off his gloves and trying to warm his bare hands, ignoring the scars covering his gray, boney fingers.

"I was happy for the first time in my life. I had a mother who wanted me, who didn't ask about this." He absentmindedly waved a hand towards his masked face. "But, she grew curious. When Nadir and his father were away one day, she demanded I reveal my face. She…she p-promised it wouldn't change anything!"

He tried to swallow his tears and found himself struggling to continue. _Why am I sharing this with her?_ The question gnawed at him until he looked into her eyes again, finding compassion pooling in them. _If I tell her, will she hate me? Will she leave when she finds out I am nothing more than a reclusive monster hiding away behind a false face._

"I s-showed her. She screamed. Oh, how she screamed!" He closed his eyes and the shrieks of the woman echoed in his ears. "I ran. I came back a year later and found she had died, never having recovered from the shock. I killed her, Christine. I killed with this…face." He clutched at his mask, pressing it firmly against his face, panicking for a moment that curiosity might drive her to discover what lay beneath the porcelain.

"Oh, Erik." She moaned, pulling him against her and rocking him back and forth. Feeling him fighting back the tears, she lightly rubbed his back. "It's okay to cry. It's okay. Her death wasn't your fault." She continued to murmur calming nonsense to him as he sobbed into her shoulder, releasing all the pent-up pain. His arms curled around her waist as he buried his head against her bosom, feeling he stole the comfort despite her providing it freely.

After a while, his tears faded and he felt horribly embarrassed as his display.

"Erik is so sorry." He whispered. "I've ruined your dress. I'll replace it." He tried to assure her before being unceremoniously shushed.

"No, you didn't ruin it. It'll wash."

"At very least, I ruined your evening." _How shall I ever receive forgiveness? Our first meeting after my return and I ruin it._

"It wasn't the evening I came expecting but, you didn't ruin it. We're _friends,_ Erik. That means I'll be here for you when you need it. And, you will be here for me when I need it." She gave him a smile and tucked him back under the covers once more.

"You are too good…" He whispered, his eyes dropping from exhaustion and before she formulated a reply for his comment, he drifted off to dreamless sleep.

Seeing he had left the land of the awake, she made sure the pillows were comfortable for his head and the blankets would keep him warm. As she stood up to return downstairs, her eyes drifted to the hard mask, digging into his face while he slept.

Torn between leaving him to his discomfort and risking seeing what he had strained to keep hidden for so long, she finally concluded what she would do. Retaking her seat, she reached behind his head, her fingers shaking as she pulled the strings loose, careful not to catch any hair that might tug and wake him. When the strings gave way, releasing the mask from his face, she hesitated before slipping her hands from behind his head and leaving the mask resting on his face. _If it grows uncomfortable, it will fall free so it wouldn't dig into his face._

"Sleep well, Erik." She whispered to him, slipping out of the room and back down to the kitchen for supper. _I will stay here until he wakes up to make sure that concussion doesn't become dangerous._

Besides, the roast still smelled delicious.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Inspiration struck and struck hard. I hope this chapter will keep y'all when the inspiration fades. And, Child of Dreams, I have included something you mentioned back in a review on Chapter 5…*grins* In appreciation of your continued interesting this little experiment of mine.

And, I just wanted to take a quick moment to thank all of y'all for reviewing. I really appreciating hearing what you have to say! Each one means a lot to me. I love all y'all!

And, if I accidentally miss a review, I'm so sorry. Sometimes they don't come through on my email I think. I try to catch everyone but I'm sure I've missed some along the way. If I missed you, I'm so sorry!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Lunacat_ : Hahaha! Have to agree that roast beef is good and I'm sure Erik's is heavenly.

 _Whatanidea15_ : Now you shall find out what happens. I hope you like it!

 _squishmich_ : I can safely assure you there will be an unmasking scene but this is way early in their relationship. We'll keep building with fluff and angst.

 _Guest_ : Yep!

 _E.M.K.81:_ We'll see. It's really up to Erik now.

 _ArtemisBare_ : I suppose you'll have to wait and find out how dear Dalir reacts. It should be interesting whatever he decides.

 _Not A Ghost3_ : Thank you!

 _Silver Tallest_ : That was what I meant it to be. I love yanking everyone heart strings. (Including my own…) More of that to come I hope! As well as friendship building fluff!

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Word Count: 2148

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 1

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CHAPTER 12

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 _I am warm._

The thought struck him soundly as his lids blinked open, revealing the dim room. The soft mattress sank beneath his weight as he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, gasping his horror as his fingers failed to find the strings to his mask. Gray appendages groped his cold skin, running the length of his jawbone and touching corpsish flesh.

"My mask!" He breathed, frantically searching for it and finding it lying beside him in the bed. Attempting to catch his breath, he returned it to his face and tied it on tightly before laying back down against the pillows. The eye holes blocked out much of his peripherical vision but his mind had already wandered far from the room he found himself installed within.

 _She held me._ He still remembered her warm arms encircling him, holding his tightly and letting him weep.

 _I showed her my underbelly and she didn't strike._

Lightly touching the swollen lump on his head, he winced and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, surprised at the comfort his guest bedroom provided. Despite the color scheme frustrating him, the light colors didn't oppress his brain. If anything, they reminded him of Christine, light and flowery.

 _I wonder how long I slept. Christine is probably long gone. I ruined our evening but she didn't seem to mind too much._

He only mostly believed her. After searching his minimal knowledge of women, he found nothing to prove she told him the truth.

The mild headache and lump on his head drove him from the room and down stairs seeking ice to relieve the swelling. As soon as his foot struck the hard wood flooring of the hallway, whispered voices drifted from the living room.

Freezing in place, he concentrated, ignoring his suddenly harsh breathing and thundering heart. His fingers crept into his pocket and curled around a thick cord, ready to leap from the linen prison and take the life of the intruders. Shoes found themselves abandoned on the floor as their occupants carried away their master silently across the floor to the doorway.

Christine sat on the blush couch and watched a movie on his TV.

On screen, a young, dark-haired woman, wearing an elegant gold party dress, stood in a darkened study with only a fire lighting the dark wood. A man, hidden behind a curtain and only visible to the audience, spoke her in loud whispers. Christine, curled up beneath the blankets, didn't pay any as he dropped the cord back into his pocket as if it had burned him.

Loath to distract her from the movie she had engrossed herself in, he nevertheless quietly cleared his throat and spoke her name,

"Christine."

"Oh!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet and violently pressing the pause button on the movie. "I didn't know you were awake. How do you feel?" She wrapped the blankets around her shoulders and turned to face him, the light hints of makeup missing from her face and her hair down loose.

 _She made herself comfortable in my home_.

The thought sent shivers of happiness through him.

"Well enough." He remarked, his headache flaring to remind him of its existence. "My head hurt but I am sure I can fix that. It's getting late, I'm sure. You're tired." Shaken still from the missing mask and the threat of intruders, he caught himself trembling faintly. Sleep came so hard these days and the hours he had no doubt passed inside the bed had disorientated him.

"Nonsense. I ate some of the roast, napped for a few hours then decided to watch a movie. I'm glad I thought to bring it along." She stepped forward and reached upward, her shorter height obvious as she rose on her tiptoes to touch his head. He flinched away but not before she felt the general size of the lump.

"Ice. Go sit down and I'll be right back." She pushed him in the direction of the settee and breezed away to the kitchen to fetch an icepack to reduce the inflammation.

Wordlessly agreeing to her request, he sank down on the settee and almost smiled to see her shoes and socks strewn about the living room. For the first time in its life, the room looked "lived in" with personal articles indicating the presence of a woman's touch.

She returned moments later, her bare feet dancing over the floor before she landed beside him pressing the ice against the bump and fussing quietly about the size of the injury and muttering quiet apologies for being the cause.

"It's not your fault, Christine. You couldn't have known." She gave him a dazzling smile.

"Well, with that knowledge, what do you plan to do with it?" He shrugged and shivered as some drops of cold water ran down his neck and into his shirt.

"I don't know."

"May I speak frankly, Erik?" She asked, moving so she could look him in the eye. "While I've been passing the time trying to find your internet password, I've been thinking." Wrinkling his forehead beneath the mask, he opened his mouth to question what all she had done in search of internet but she ignored him and plunged ahead.

"You need friends. Guy friends. I'm great and all but I'm a girl. There is only so much close friendship I can offer you." He attempted to stop her and argue that she was all he needed and other people were of no consequence but she refused to let him.

"You don't have any friends other than me. Me, a _purchased_ friend. I want you to speak with him. At least try. I'm sure time has changed your relationship and maybe you won't be the good friends you once were but you'll have someone." He stared into her rich blue eyes and let her words bounce around his mind, only managing to say,

"I always forget I pay you for this." The sentence took the wind from her sails and she almost crumpled as she broke his gaze and went back to tending to the swelling.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't enjoy being in your company." She muttered. Guilt washed over him and tore at his gut but the apology stuck in his throat when he tried to give it.

"I am… I will consider your comment but please do not mention me to your friend until I let you know my decision." She merely nodded, hurt by his hard words, reminding of the reality of their situation. A few moments later, he quietly added with shame filling every word,

"I'm sorry, Christine. My words were cruel. I shouldn't have said them."

"You were right. I can't deny the truth. Now, I think that's the best we're going to be able to do for a while with this bump. You're just going to have to manage and not do any more damage to your head." She pulled away the ice pack and tossed it onto the empty plat occupying one of the side tables. Attempting to return the smile that he had so cruelly ripped from her face, he looked towards the TV, a blue screen, and asked,

"What movie was that?"

"The Scarlet Pimpernel, 1982. It's my favorite version. Have you ever seen it?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Then, we shall have to watch it. But, before that, where are my other movies?" Christine asked, taking her seat on the plush couch opposite him and tucking her toes under the edges of her knee-length skirt.

"Ah." Erik said, remembering the DVDs she had entrusted into his careful care several meetings previously. "I put them in a safe place."

"Where?" She asked, tilting her head to one side.

"My office." He said and she arched an eyebrow in his direction. "Come with me. I'll show you." He rose to his feet and hesitated for a moment before holding out his naked hand to her. Earlier, she had shown a lack of dislike of his gloveless hands. _But, it is more likely she did it only to comfort me as strange as that notion sounds. She won't like them as a rule._

Curious blue eyes glanced up at him and, moments later, a thin white hand slid into his grip, spreading warmth through his whole body, beginning with his finger tips and ending with his toes.

"F-follow me." He stammered, breaking eye contact and showing her up the stairs and down the hall. His memory of the state of his office remained foggy but to his last recollection, the morphine had remained tucked away safely so she wouldn't see it.

Swinging open the door, he gestured for her to follow him into the dark room before he walked to a wall, seamlessly papered with red wallpaper. He released her hand, letting her wander about the room while he pressed an series of places under the paper.

A spot on the opposite wall swung open, revealing a steel safe with another safe sitting within it. He strode over to it and flicked the dials into a pattern. Just before he opened it, he glanced back at her, catching a grin before it crossed his face at her reaction.

"See, nothing could get to them." He pulled the door of the second safe open and showed her the one movie and the set of DVDs that composed her children.

"You did this for me." She whispered, stepping forward to see her family. "You went to all this trouble?" He nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed at his actions. _Did I go too far? Does she not like that I did this? I did forget to give them back and it obviously worried her_.

"Yes. Did I do wrong? I should have given them back to you but they slipped my mind."

"You took care of my children." She pulled them out of the small safe and turned them over in her hands, pleased to see them unharmed. "You did well." Glancing at him, golden eyes peering down intently at her, she set them back in the safe and stepped away.

"Don't you want to take them home?" He asked, shocked.

"They're safer here with you. Besides, there is no point to bring them back to my house since we'll be watching them together another time. But, thank you for your thoughtfulness." She leaned forward and hugged him, feeling his lungs lock up as her arms wound around him.

"They…meant something to you." He replied, breathless from the touch.

"And you recognized that and took it seriously. I appreciate that. Now, lock the safe back up and we'll go back down stairs." He nodded and returned his attention to the safe while she looked about his office. Just as he turned to face her, to tell her he had finished, she said,

"You didn't tell me you required injections." He spun, gold eyes widening as he saw a morphine syringe sitting in her perfect hands. The pale-yellow liquid gleamed up at him, mocking him from its glass jail, threatening him with the revelation of his addition. "If you are ill, you should have told me! I would have helped if I could."

"T-there is n-nothing to be helped." He replied, snatching the needle from her hand and stowing it away in a drawer. "I t-take it as-needed." _Like I do right now._ His heart raced in his chest and his hands shook violently, reminding him his last dose had been thirty-six hours ago at least.

"You're not…very sick, are you?" Her worry, under normal circumstances, would have touched his heart but, in this case, only made him horribly ashamed. _I am dirt before her. She worries over an addict who is too weak to kick his master. She is so innocent, she doesn't realize what she touched._

"No, Christine, not very sick. Just, never healthy. Will you please wait for me downstairs?" He leaned heavily on the desk and refused to look her in the eye.

"Of course. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have prided into your medical needs. I'll be downstairs with the movie waiting. Don't be long." He barely heard the last whisper as the door closed behind the angel. Gasping for air, he yanked the drawer open again, nearly tore his sleeve rolling it up, and plunged the needle into the waiting vein, desperate for the sweet drug to calm the panic building in him.

 _She thinks I'm sick. I don't have to hide as much as I did before. This is good, right?_

His stomach churned and he nearly threw up.

 _Lies…lies…all lies._

 _I can't do that to her. I have to tell her._

Syringe empty, he withdrew it from his vein and dropped it onto the desk, the glass clinking as it landed.

 _But not tonight. I'll tell her later. Later…later…later…_


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Um….I didn't realize it's been nearly two months since I updated. I AM SO SORRY! Some stuff I couldn't control has been really bothering me lately and disturbed my writing for a while. I am back in full swing though, so, expect more! I hope I don't let you down.

So, something has changed in my book writing now! I have a Beta reader! At least, I think that's what they call people who help out with your writing. She's really awesome, her name is Mary the Canary and I'm very thankful for her help with this chapter. Maybe we can avoid those awkward typos now!

On a side note: I wrote this chapter to destroy your hearts and set up for something in the future (I honestly don't know what but I'll find out). And, trust me, there won't be a lot of flashbacks. I don't like flashbacks usually. But, this one felt important enough that I didn't want to tell it. I wanted to show it. Don't skip! (I'm looking at you, friend of mine who may or may not be reading it on here!)

Anyway, enjoy! Please favorite, follow, and review!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot because I'm the genius who thought it up! *mic drop*.

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Reviews:

 _Lunacat:_ Yes, my updates haven't been the most punucual. I do apologize for this. My life has been topsy-turvy and I haven't been able to sit down and write. But, I think I'm back into the swing of things and this is the result! I hope its worth the wait!

 _E.M.K.81:_ This was my goal when I made this Christine. She is supposed to be innocent and sweet. She has very little familiarity with drugs and their affects. I don't know how Erik is going to explain himself out of this corner but we'll find out! And, yes, there will be an unmasking scene. Don't worry. I have plans. *winks*

 _Whatanidea15_ : It's well worth seeing! I love it. But, yes, Erik does deserve some fussing at for this little lie. We'll see what trouble it gets him in.

 _Child of Dreams_ : You guessed correctly! *claps happily for you* Back in a review on Chapter 5 you requested this and brought it back to memory for me. THANK YOU!

 _ArtemisBare_ : It's a good movie! Since I've never read the book, I don't actually know how accurate it is but, as a movie, it's very good. I love the characters and the actors are great. Well worth checking out! I'm sorry I broke my "regular updates" routine! But, hopefully, I'll be back with chapters coming more often. Thanks for reviewing so long ago!

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Word Count: 1610

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 0

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Chapter 13

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When dawn crept into the darkness of the living room, Erik jerked awake and pushed aside the blanket he found wrapped around him. The room lay empty, the girl who had previously filled it with light had long disappeared into the night to return to her own home.

How could I have forgotten! She must work this morning and I kept her up late.

Berating himself, he rose and straightened his suit and mask, pleased to find this time the piece of porcelain remained on while he slept. Now that his mind had cleared, he wondered if she had loosened the strings in the beginning part of the night, but brushed aside that idea, refusing to believe she would betray him like that. No, the ties had just tugged loose at some point.

He stretched, popping his joints after having slept at an odd angle for so long. Wincing at the pleasant pain, he saw a scrap of paper sitting on the coffee table, a few words and a phone number scribbled across it.

Picking it up, he read the note.

 _Erik, this is Dalir's phone number. Please, consider calling or texting him. I know it isn't easy for you after all that you two went through but he misses you._

 _Christine_

Beneath her name, ten digits sprawled across the page, burning a hole into his eyes. His phone, an occupant of his left pant pocket, felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Sinking back onto the couch, he fished the device from his pocket and stared at it.

 _Nadir, how could you want me back? I ruined your life. I destroyed your mother's life. How could you miss me?_

He flicked the phone on and opened "New Message," hesitating before slowly typing in Dalir's phone number. His hands shook, the text message box empty, the curser blinking tauntingly at him.

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 _"You promised we'd go fishing today, Papa!" Ami pouted, following his adopted father and friend out the door of their small home._

 _"I'm sorry, Ami, but Nadir and I have to go into town. Why don't we go fishing tomorrow? And, your mother is baking cookies and bread. Go help her and we'll be back in time for supper." The middle-aged Persian man lightly patted the masked boy on the head and gave him an encouraging smile. "You're a good son, Ami."_

 _"Thank you, Papa." Thin arms wound around his father's waist, tightening to give him an affectionate squeeze. "I'll be patient."_

 _"Thank you, son." His 'papa' pressed a soft kiss to his hair and led Nadir away to the small car waiting in the driveway._

 _As his family drove away, he waved from the doorway. Once the car had disappeared from the driveway, Ami ran back into the house, straight to the kitchen where his 'mama' busied herself with mixing a batch of cookies._

 _"Have they left, Ami?" The pretty woman asked, turning to face him, her lips lifted in a happy grin. In the eyes of the boy, her smile could create world peace._

 _"Yes, Mama." He grinned from beneath the mask, though she couldn't see the twisted expression. He hopped up on the counter, kicking his feet as they hung above the floor. "What cookies are you making?"_

 _"Lemon. Your favorite, right?" She smiled, brushing some powdered sugar off her hands. "Could you go get me some more sugar from the pantry? I used the last of it just now."_

 _"Yes, Mama!" Bounding from the counter, he bounced across the checkered kitchen floor to the pantry doors. Pushing them open, he dropped to his knees and pulled out a heavy bag of sugar. He closed the doors behind him and proudly presented the French woman with the item._

 _"Thank you, Ami. There is bread dough in the fridge." She laughed quietly as the boy nearly evaporated over to the black stainless-steel refrigerator. His small, bony hands tugged open the door and removed the large metal bowl of bread dough, his eyes widening at the amount._

 _"Now, only have a few bites. I don't want you sick and Madame Martin needs the bread," she lovely chuckled as the boy obediently took a pinch of the dough and returned the bowl to its place inside the full refrigerator._

 _"Thank you, Mama. Is Madame Martin and her baby doing well?" He returned to his place on the counter beside her and gently reached out, lightly playing with her black curls. Since he had arrived at their home several weeks ago, he had found an absolute fascination with his adopted mother's black curls. She had proven kind and allowed the boy the attachment, aware of the tenuous hold he had on sanity._

 _"Yes. I expect she'll be on her feet in no time." She lovingly smiled at him and lightly brushed his hair out of his face, leaving a streak of flour across his sack mask. Ami relished the touch and lightly hugged her before disappearing into the living room to play the piano for her as he did whenever she decided to cook._

 _She had said many times that the music brought her great pleasure._

 _He wanted so desperately to please this kind woman who loved him._

 _After he had played for nearly an hour, mostly his own compositions but also several popular songs she adored, he paused, hearing her approach._

 _"Yes, Mama? Are the cookies done?" His golden eyes landed on her as he turned on the piano bench. He expected to see a smile, but a solemn look covered her face, her mind busy thinking behind the white flesh concealing it._

 _"No, but they will be soon. Before they come out of the oven, I wanted to talk to you. Come here." She held out her hand and he took it without thinking, knots of worry tying up his stomach._

 _"What have I done?"_

 _"You've done nothing, Ami," she assured him, sitting the boy down beside her on the couch. "I wanted to talk to you about this." Her fingers touched the cloth covering his face. He instantly shied away from her._

 _"No, Mama, please no. I don't want to talk about it." Pressure built behind his eyes and he felt a panic coming upon him. The pictures of the monster that appeared whenever the mask left filled his little mind and frightened him._

 _"We need to." She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, tucking him close to her warm body. He curled against her, burying his head against her bosom._

 _"No, I don't want to."_

 _"Why do you wear it?" She inquired kindly, running her hand through the bits of hair she could reach. He shook in her loose grasp, his arms tightening around her waist._

 _"M-mother…" He started, remembering the horror of his blood mother. "M-mother m-made me wear i-it. She said…she said if I d-didn't, a horrible m-monster would appear! One d-day, one day – I took it off. I w-wanted a k-kiss. She s-showed me the monster! He's frightening!"_

 _His adopted mother pressed a kiss to his head, bringing tears to his eyes._

 _"There is no monster here." She whispered, her sweet voice filling his mind and becoming all he could hear. "There is only my son, who I love very much. Your mother was a fool. There is no monster. Whatever you look like won't change anything. I'll still love you." Seeing her words had only a little effect on the boy, she changed her tactic. "If you take off your mask, I'll give you those kisses you wanted."_

 _Her bribery worked and the boy quickly began to pull off the scrap of cloth, the lure of kisses too much for his affection starved brain to deny._

 _As soon as the cloth fell away and his hopeful eyes turned up towards his mama, her eyes widened in horror. Expecting affection, he received squeaks and shrieks of fear and disgust. His mother's face turned salt white, mouth hanging open. Her hand pushed him away despite his reaching for her._

 _"Mama!" He cried, only for her to leap from the couch and nearly fall over the coffee table to escape him._

 _"G-get away!" She shouted, waving her hand at him. "Get away, monster!"_

 _"Mama!" He screamed, tears coating his sunken cheeks. "Mama!"_

 _"You're a monster! You're a monster! Get away from me!" Sobbing in terror, she disappeared from the room. Seconds later, he heard the door to the bedroom slam and the lock turn, her last defense from her son._

 _"Mama." He whispered, sobbing into his hands. "Mama."_

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"Mama…Mama…you're a monster…Mama…" Erik rocked back and forth on the couch, his eyes locked in the scene playing in his mind. Pain bloomed in his chest as his heart violently spasmed. Tears coated his cheeks and even ran down the cheeks of the mask, streaking the porcelain with salty liquid.

"Forgive me, Mama, for being a monster you couldn't love." The phone tumbled from his hands and he buried his head in his arms and wept.

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It was the middle of the night and Dalir couldn't sleep. Restlessness kept his eyes from closing as he tossed and turned in the narrow Queen-sized hotel bed. Lights from the passing cars flashed in his eyes even through the curtains and gave him a pounding headache.

Around three o'clock, he rose and found the TV remote. After flicking through the channels, he ended up throwing the piece of plastic against the wall in a final act of frustration with the world.

At that moment, his phone dinged. Frowning, he clicked on the screen and read a message from a strange number.

 _This is Ami._


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I was unfortunately delayed in publishing this chapter. A lot has been going on. I had a birthday party, semester exams, whatnot! I am very sorry. Fortunately, I have dropped my Pre-Cal class and am now only taking three classes now! I should be able to write a lot more! True, I am picking up a job but I don't see it getting in the way _too_ much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _ArtemisBare_ : *grins* Isn't that movie wonderful? And, thank you! I am looking forward to working with my beta! She is awesome and really good at what she does. And thank you for understanding. I really do appreciate it.

 _LePianiste:_ I can't guarantee this chapter will make you happy but maybe it will! Thank you for reviewing!

 _Child of Dreams_ : Hahahahaha! Same here!

 _E.M.K.81_ : Well, I can't say this is soon but I hope you enjoy this update! I can't say I did much about the cliffhanger though...just replaced it with another./

 _Not a Ghost3_ : Agreed!

 _Lunacat:_ Thank you! They have and I praise the Lord for it!

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Word Count: 2199

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 2

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Chapter 14

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Dalir's hands shook. The text waited patiently for his reply, the little blue bubble blissfully unaware of his near heart attack. The Persian had spent years searching for his friend, combing every nook and cranny that might hide the masked boy.

But, after twenty years, he'd given up. In the middle of Russia, he dropped the search, deciding Death had stolen his friend. All those months of grieving, all for nothing. If this text isn't a prank. If it were, he would find whoever laughed on the other side and destroy them for doing this to him.

 _Who are you? How do you know that name?_

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 _I'm Ami. I was informed we knew each other as children. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I won't bother you anymore._

Erik's bony finger clicked on the glass touchscreen, sending the message with a slowly sinking heart. Despite the heat of the fire, a cold wind whipped through the dark living room. Erik shivered and reached for the fleece blanket, but his claws froze before he touched the lambskin.

The blanket belonged to Christine. He retracted his hand and instead moved closer to the fire, the chill in his bones sending another quake through him.

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 _Wait! Don't go. You're not bothering me. I couldn't sleep anyway. Tell me something that would prove you are who you say you are._

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Memories long locked away exploded into the front of his skull. Images of the two boys fighting each other with the best sticks they could find, leaving bruises that Nadir's mother had always complained about and lovingly refused to treat because "they should learn not to 'rough house skidded through his mind. She had never failed to break down in the end and kiss the bruises, giving them each a cookie to take their mind off the sore spots.

Tears gleamed in the corners of his eyes and a stray drop rolled down his cheek beneath the mask. Then, his mind landed on the perfect memory. Something only they would know. Turning on the screen once more (he'd been so caught in memories that it had gone to sleep), he typed away the quick message:

 _You and I had a game we played at night. Hide and seek in the dark. You were always frustrated because I could see in the dark. You thought that was unfair._

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 _Ami, it's so good to hear from you again._

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 _Do you mean that?_

 _._

 _._

 _Of course, I do. Could we meet somewhere? We should talk, and text is not the appropriate place.._

 _._

 _._

 _Yes. I understand. Where would you like to meet?_

 _._

 _._

 _Perhaps a quiet place with few people?_

 _._

 _._

 _Preferably none._

 _._

 _._

 _I know just the place. I'll send you the address._

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Two days later, Dalir walked towards a bench beneath a spreading oak tree, separate from the rest of the forest and overhung walking paths. At Ami's request, he had arranged their meeting at a small park several miles from town. Only occupied by the occasional cyclist or cross-country runner, the park remained empty of most human activity. The city had effectively abandoned it, letting the formerly nice park crumble and fade back into the clutches of the forest.

Only a few benches and a falling down playground remained, reminding passersby of the land's old occupation.

Dusk was quickly closing in on him as he brushed aside leaves and sticks off the lichen covered stone and sat down, pulling his coat tighter around him. Checking his phone, he found he had no cell service.

 _I should have considered this when I chose this spot. They always told me not to do this! Especially when meeting strangers. But, he's not a stranger? Is he?_

The frown the thought carried with it soon fluttered away as a tall black shape approached the bench from the shadows of the tree-line. A sharp wind caught the heavy black cloak and whipped it about his lean figure. A solid black mask covered his face from hairline to chin, leaving two holes for his piercing golden eyes and a thin line at his mouth for breathing. A black suit and tie covered his neck where the cloak's pleated collar failed.

When the shadow paused in front of him, Dalir stood up and greeted him. His height blew him away for a moment as he tilted his head upward a little to look the man in the eye.

"Ami?" he asked, holding out his hand to him.

"Nadir?" That musical voice he'd never forgotten questioned as it's owner's golden eyes peered at the outstretched hand. The figure shifted in his boots, his fingers tightening at his sides and relaxed only to squeeze into a leather fist.

"Yes, Dalir now but, yes, I was Nadir back when we knew each other." After a moment of awkwardness, he lowered his hand and gestured to the seat beside him. The man considered it for a moment but shook his head and simply stood beside the bench. Dalir shrugged and sat down, balancing his forearms on his knees.

"Do you still go by 'Ami'?" The black shadow shook his head.

"No. I choose a name later on. Erik." _That name is special to us, to our childhood friendship. Besides, people like to have names, not titles._

"It's a good name. It fits you." Dalir agreed.

"You changed yours," he quietly noted, a question haunting his voice. "Why?"

"My father got into trouble with the law after… after. I wanted to leave that behind so I changed my name. I moved to the US, got a good job, found a wife. We have a baby now. You're an uncle!" Dalir laughed and noted with a twinge of sadness that Ami didn't appear to share his mirth. If anything, the gold eyes turned colder, mirroring the wind that whipped about them.

"I'm not your brother. I never was. I was nothing more than a freak your family thought they could care for. Too late they found out they couldn't. To their detriment." The bitter words spat from Erik's mouth, shocking Nadir into silence for a moment.

 _I didn't realize you hated us so much._

The wind howled through the tops of the trees, sending a flurry of autumn leaves down onto the silent pair. The bits of color contrasted strongly with Erik's black outfit and Nadir's quiet gray suit. A couple leaves landed on Erik's shoulder and he brushed them off with a flick of his black-gloved fingers.

"You were always my brother, my friend," he finally explained when he could speak again. "There was never a moment you weren't. I never stopped hoping one day I'd find you and reunite our family. I know our relationship is a very complicated one and I don't expect for us to mend it in an evening of talk but, believe me, I'd like to start. I want my brother back." He looked up at the quiet figure, a black shape against the dying sun.

At last, golden eyes locked onto him, reminding him of the yellow and orange of the fading sun. They lingered long, as if they read him like a book. Reading every emotion, every intention, every expression – they searched for lies, misinformation, self-deceit.

"Christine tells me you are staying in a motel," he suddenly spoke up, instantly putting Dalir on edge as the name crossed his lips.

"You know Christine?"

"Yes, she's my 'friend.' I hired her from The Friend Shop." _Yes, Nadir, your former friend is that desperate._ "She heard your story and figured it out it was me. She told me and gave me your contact information with the request I reconnect." A dark void appeared in Dalir's stomach as he realized what this meant to him.

 _No, not my brother. Please, anyone but my brother._

"It appears we were both looking for honest company." Dalir commented with a smile, faking the "easy" conversation they had enjoyed before the blonde beauty's name had been brought up.

 _Right now, he's not an assassin I've been sent to bring in. Right now, he's my brother who I haven't seen in thirty years. I will find a way to work around this. One way or another._

"She is a fine friend."

"That I agree with wholeheartedly." He smiled and stood up, glancing at his watch. "I better be going. It's getting late and I have to make a phone call."

"I understand." The black shadow began to move away but Dalir called out to him before he could remove himself beyond earshot.

"Ami! Wait." He jogged up beside him. "Ami, you're not going to disappear again, are you?" Erik shook his head, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His friend reminded him at the moment very much of a limp marionette, his strings cut and exhaustion filling his limbs.

"Good. Call me tomorrow evening. You have my number." Erik nodded and took a few steps back, away from him.

"I will. Goodbye, Nadir." Turning on his heel, he seemed to float away on the yards of black cloth flowing behind him.

 _And now, to call my boss..._

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Back at his house, Erik sank into his computer chair and pulled out a vial of morphine, shooting a needle-full of the clear liquid deep into the scarred veins of his forearm. He waited a few moments, but nothing happened. The shakes hadn't disappeared. The tension coiled tighter if that were possible.

 _It's finally come to this._

His fingers grabbed the vial again and refilled the syringe with a half dose. The secondary stab stung a little more than the others, but his skin separated to allow the metal to slide into his body. The drug flooded the already saturated veins and performed the desired effect.

Calm and relaxed, almost to the point of sleepiness, Erik turned on his computer and pulled up The Friend Shop messenger, finding he needed Beauty's wisdom about how to continue.

 _She knows about people._

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Poking at her food, Christine skimmed through the feed of one of her social media apps, nothing standing out at her. Her break would end soon, a fact she found herself rejoicing over. The sooner it ended, the sooner the shift would end and the sooner she could go home.

Her phone dinged, revealing she had an email from The Friend Shop, letting her know of a private message from Erik. Curious why he messaged her outside of their regular days, she clicked the link and read it, realizing what he needed.

 _Christine, I met with Nadir today._

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 _._

 _What happened?_

 _._

 _._

 _He seems to not hate me. But, perhaps I read him wrong._

 _._

 _._

 _I highly doubt you did._

 _._

 _._

 _Where do I go from here?_

 _._

 _._

 _Talk to him. Get to know who he is now. It's been so long since you two have seen each other. I know both of you have changed a lot since you were boys. Take it slow. Talk._

 _._

 _._

 _I don't like that idea._

 _._

 _._

Christine caught herself laughing at the childish remark, her heart swelling with affection for the man.

"What am I going to do with you?" She muttered to herself before her boss called for her over the counter. Speed typing her last reply, she turned off her phone before he could respond.

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 _Erik, invite him over for supper tomorrow night. I'll come over early and help cook. The three of us will have a nice meal together. Gtg, boss wants me. ;)_

 _._

 _._

The phone weighed heavy in Dalir's palm as he stared at the contact before him. He had a choice. Either, betray his code and save his brother, or betray his brother and save his honor.

 _Maybe I can do both? But, first, I need more time._

The phone rang through quickly, his boss picking up on the second ring.

 _-Dalir, any more information?-_

"Yes, I have a lead. But, I'm going to need some more time to properly check it out."

 _-We don't have that much time. He killed a Russian diplomat. At a party. In plain sight. This man must be stopped.-_

"I understand."

 _-I don't want to tell you this but, this is coming down from the higher ups that if you fail they're going to find someone else. I'll do all I can but you know what happens when they get something in their brains.-_

Dalir paused, thinking of his wife and their baby. Without a job, they'd go hungry. With a dismissal on his record, he couldn't get another job. He closed his eyes and his beautiful wife's face filled his mind, her face turned down in disappointment. Would she and their son ever look him in the eye with respect if he betrayed his word to the government?

 _I barely know this man. For all I know, he could be everything I've believed him to be all these years I've chased him. Do I give up everything I know and love for someone that might not be worth it?_

Swallowing, he made up his mind.

"I understand, sir. When I am done, the assassin will be no more. I'll do my job."


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I am not dead. I have not stopped posting.

Firstly, I would like to thank you for your patience. I know it has been WAY WAY too long since an update. In my defense, I had a chapter going, it was going great...and my computer updated, got corrupted, and I lost everything, chapter included. It was very hard to start over again and work on another chapter. I slaved over the previous one. But, I did!

It took me several weeks to get another computer and then a few more weeks to write this. BECAUSE YOU GUYS WERE SO PATIENT THOUGH, I wrote a really long chapter filled with angst and fluff and stuff for y'all. You have earned it.

A big thank you to my Beta Reader, Mary the Canary. I hollered at her last week and didn't give her much time to work. She was very helpful and this chapter is much better for her work! Thank you!

If all goes according to planned, this book will be done by August. I'm heading off to college and I want to wrap up my writing as I don't know what my life will be like then. I don't want to make promises I can't keep.

Again, thank you for your patience, and please review and let me know what you think! Even if it is hate for how long this thing took.

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _ArtemisBare:_ I agree. Pre-Calc can go do that all day and leave us alone. And, thank you! I love when I can create something unique instead of rehashing all the same story and plot. Yeah, I can understand you there. I suppose that's the reason it's called fiction. Reading about realistic life would be pretty boring and frustrating. Hahahaha! I appreciate the follow and I hope this is well worth the wait. Thank you for understanding!

 _Not A Ghost3:_ That he does. We shall see what he decides to do...

 _E.M.K.81:_ We shall see what happens...(I'm curious to know to.) That's an interesting idea about the legal side. I hadn't thought about that. Thank you for the idea. And, I don't know what Erik would do. I'll ask him.

 _Child of Dreams:_ *joins you* NADIR, HE'S YOUR BROTHER! Family before work!

 _PhantomFemme du Pantages:_ In my next books, I probably won't be as strict because I know I went overboard with it. This book is less of a book and more of an experiment to see what will happen when I try to remove them completely. I know I won't write another book with this sort of constraints. And, thank you! Yes, he has quite a choice before him. I wonder what he'll pick? About Raoul, I agree. He would just make problems. We can have a no-Raoul fanfic. Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying it!

 _sleepypants2_ : Thanks! They're going very well and I'm so happy to be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

 _Phanma:_ That is some of my favorite fluff! Friendship fluff is wonderful!

 _Lunacat:_ Thank you! It's been going great these last months.

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WORDS: 3143

"WAS" COUNT: 1

"WERE" COUNT: 2

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Chapter 15

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 _When are you coming?_

Erik paced back and forth in front of the door, glancing out the window every second or two, He searched for that battered blue Monte Carlo to appear among the trees, park at the tumbled-in bridge, and wait for its owner to return to it after her visit.

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 _._

 _I'm on my way. U know I shouldn't text while driving._

 _._

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 _I am sorry. Please drive safely._

 _But hurry._

 _._

 _._

 _Give me ten minutes and I'll be there. Just don't have a panic attack on me._

 _._

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 _You know me surprisingly well._

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 _I should hope to shout! I'm parking. On my way. :D_

Christine sent the message quickly and clambered across the seats to slide out the passenger side door. Tucking her phone away inside her purse, she loaded her arms with the groceries from her latest shopping trip and began the walk to the house.

 _By the way he's talking, I'm walking into a full-grown man in panic mode_. She tripped a little on branch and caught herself against a tree trunk. Shaking her head, she laughed to herself and hurried along towards the house. Dying grass stalks stabbed at her boots as she picked her way around the gopher holes, recent additions since her last visit.

Before she even reached the stairs, the door opened, and Erik appeared in the doorway, about to say something.

"Erik, before you say anything, help me carry this stuff in the house. There is nothing to worry about. Everything will go fine." She passed him a few bags and gave him a reassuring smile.

"But-"

"No buts," she replied, marching with purpose into the kitchen. "I won't allow for those." Erik hung back at the doorway as she gathered the spices she needed for her recipe. She fluttered about the kitchen, a lovely white butterfly determined to lift the panic that had fallen over the house. Growing more despondent by the moment, he muttered,

"There is nothing you can do about any of this. I was a fool for thinking that this night could go well." Pausing in the middle of her noodle boiling, she turned off the stove with a click and walked over to him, her face softening. He hung his head and refused to look her in the eyes.

"Erik…" Trailing off, she reached down and took his cold, lean hands in hers, winding their fingers together. She looked at the thin, black leather gloves before tugging at the tips of them. They slid off his skin and she tossed them onto the table. "You have to stop wearing these gloves. They can't be good for your hands. Your circulation is awful." She rubbed his hands and felt his weak pulse miss beats.

"I really shouldn't. You're too kind in your accepting of them." He led them hang limp in her grasp, his stomach tying itself in knots at her warm, comforting touch.

"You accept my hands. Why shouldn't I accept yours?" She glanced up at him, her blue eyes daring him to respond. He barely hesitated,

"Your hands are b-beautiful…just like y-you." Gently, she turned her hands palms up, his resting on top of them.

"So are yours. Just like you."

"Christine, I'm not beautiful. I'm beyond hideous. Inside and out. You have no idea." His hands started to shake. She gripped them tightly, her white hands curling around the corpse-like appendages. _You're only here because I pay you._

"Trust me, Erik. To me, you're beautiful. Your hands are beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your music is beautiful. No matter what happens tonight, I won't leave. I won't change my mind about you. I'm here until you hate me and drive me away." She released his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, folding him against her in a warm embrace. He shook quietly, his tears silent but obvious to the woman pressed tightly against him.

"I-I c-couldn't h-hate you." His fingers trembled as they ran through her golden hair. "I l-like you v-very much. You m-mean so much to Erik. He is so glad he chose you. Please, never leave. Please." His strong arms tightened around her, his hands tangled in her hair.

"I won't. I won't leave." She leaned back and looked up at him. "Come on, let's fix supper and face tonight together. Keep an open mind and you might regain a friend. If you don't, then you have neither lost nor gained anything. Do you believe me, Erik?"

He stared down at her perfect, pure face and found himself absentmindedly wondering how her jaw would feel tucked against his bony palm. The temptation to touch her soft skin nagged at him before he dropped his hands, clenching his fists at his sides.

"I believe you, Christine." he said, bowing his head slightly and conceding to her greater wisdom about humans. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Could you fry the meat?" she asked, gesturing towards the hamburger meat sitting on the cutting board. "I have the spices and I need it cooked to put into the goulash." Grateful for something to do, he hurried to find a pan and set to work. Moments later, the grease started popping, filling the kitchen with its pleasing aroma. Christine began to quietly hum, and Erik chimed in with her.

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Dalir stood in the doorway of the kitchen and listened to the pair, lost in their own world together. She peacefully swayed while stirring the noodles, and he tapped out the melody on his leg while flipping the hamburger. Unwilling to interrupt their bonding, he leaned against the doorframe and enjoyed the perfect harmonizing. _He has potential to be so much more than a killer. He'll take on the mantle of a saint to please her. Even if he doesn't know it yet…_

As the song faded away, he cleared his throat, managing to scare them both. Christine squeaked, and Erik's hand landed in his pocket, a dead giveaway to wear his weapon of choice lay. Chuckling to himself, Dalir stepped into the kitchen.

"Sorry for barging in, but the door was standing wide open." Christine laughed and stepped forward, giving the man a quick hug.

"No problem. How are you?"

"Better than ever. Something smells wonderful."

"Yes, I'm making goulash. Is the hamburger done, Erik?" she asked, turning away from Dalir and poking her head around his shoulder to see the condition of the meat.

"It is." He drained the grease and she took the skillet from him.

"Then, I'll take over. Shoo!" She waved her hands in the direction of both men, pushing them out of the kitchen. Erik tried to object, but she shushed him. "For one night you have a personal cook. Take advantage of that. Now, git!" She laughed and closed the kitchen door once they had stepped out. After a moment, they heard the lock click into place, permanently barring them from entering the kitchen until she allowed it.

Laughing at the lovely girl's actions, Dalir turned to his adopted brother.

"Looks like we've been kicked out. Let's go sit down, Erik. I spent all day touring the town and my feet are killing me." Following his suggestion, Erik showed him to the dining room table, allowing him to choose whatever seat he wanted. Dalir sat down with a contented sign and leaned back against the straight back chair with his hands resting on the table.

"This house is beautiful. Did you build it yourself?" Erik nodded, looking proudly about at his creation.

"Yes, would you expect me to let anyone else touch my designs?"

"No, can't say I would. So, tell me. What have you been doing all these years?" Dalir asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table _. I know some part of what you've been doing, Ami, but I hope you have something honest to your name._

"Some of this, some of that. Many short employments. Currently, I am a movie and video game composer. Nowadays with video games becoming more like interactive movies, the score has become very important. And, of course, the movie industry is always looking for that next Academy Award for best original score." Proud of his achievements, Erik found he had no trouble talking about his work. The tightness in his shoulders faded, and the twisting in his gut loosened. _Maybe it won't be so bad?_

"Have any of your movies won that award?"

"A few. Almost all are nominated." He replied modestly, studying the intricacies of the woodwork. "Even after days of work, my pieces are still very flawed. Anyone with a musical ear could understand the mistakes."

"Now you sound like you did years ago." Dalir chided. "And, if I remember correctly, you were genius even then. I can't imagine you've regressed in your skill."

"It is possible. Many of the great minds hit their peak young and tumble quickly. If I follow their lead, my career will soon be plummeting." He rose from his seat and walked over to the cabinet hanging on a near wall. Opening it, he sorted through some bottles and pulled down an aged bottle of sherry and two glasses.

"Erik, you are far different from them. If anything, you will only rise as time goes by. Again, you're too hard on yourself." Erik shrugged and poured him a glass of the ruby red liquor and passed it to him.

"What have you been doing all these years?" he asked, turning the subject away from himself now that it reached a too-personal level. Graciously, Dalir let it slide and sampled the fine sherry.

"Working. Unlike you, I have no natural talents that lend to an easy life. But I've been able to make a decent life for my family." Erik opened his mouth to inquire further about his job when the kitchen door burst open and Christine breezed out, three bowls of goulash steaming on a tray.

"Supper is served!" She floated around the dining table, leaving a bowl and set of silverware before claiming a spot for herself. "We have water and southern sweet tea to drink. Preference?" she asked, glancing between them from under the stray locks of golden hair that had drifted out of the messy bun.

"Water." Nadir replied, smiling at the sweet girl.

"Water, please, Christine." Erik answered, focused on the meal in front of him. Gooey with cheese, the goulash would be interesting to eat with a mask. He poked at it with his fork, trying to think of the best way to eat it without ruining the porcelain or at very least covering it in cheese and tomato sauce. _If only I could wear my other mask for this. But, I will not put these people through the torment of seeing any part of my face. It's bad enough that Christine has seen my hands._

Moments later, Christine fluttered out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her with her boot.

"Here you are." She passed them their drinks and slid into her own seat, stirring her bowl of goulash. "What are you waiting for? I promise it's not poisonous." Laughing to herself, she took a bite, nodding approvingly of her own cooking. Nadir sampled the food and made the appropriate comments regarding the flavor while Erik ignored them, focusing more on the fork and bowl in front of him. The smell had wormed its way under his mask, making his stomach growl at the scent. Ducking his head, he lifted his mask just the slightest bit and popped a few noodles into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he swallowed and took another tiny bite, repeating the process.

"Erik." Christine spoke up, breaking his concentration with her compassionate voice. "Do you have another mask you could wear?" she asked. Erik's stomach flipped and threatened to relieve itself of its contents.

He tried to answer her, but his throat locked up, only a strangled breath of air escaping. As if she noticed his building panic, she continued,

"Neither of us will mind if you put on something more comfortable and easy to eat in. It'll be cold long before you're finished, and goulash isn't great cold." She leaned forward on the table and laid her hand on his arm, her pale fingers lightly pressing into the fabric of his suit as a comforting measure.

"I-I…do have a less-covering m-mask." he mumbled.

"Will it be easier to eat in?" Christine asked, tilting her head to the side. A golden curl tumbled over her forehead and she pushed it away. He nodded, preferring to watch the light bounce off her hair. "Then, go put it on. We'll wait for you."

Shaking, he rose to his feet and walked to the door. He paused, gripping the doorway so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes found hers. She nodded encouragingly. Erik disappeared up the stairs, leaving Christine and Nadir by themselves at the dining room table.

"You didn't ask him to take the mask off." Nadir remarked, looking at her curiously. Christine glanced over at him, a bewildered look covering her face.

"Why would I ask him to do that?"

"Aren't you curious what's under the mask?"

"I suppose I am. But I'm not going to ask him to show me. He trusts me so much already and I'm not going to ruin all that by asking something he'll never want to do. If he ever shows me, it'll be because he wants to. I only know bits and pieces of his past, but I know enough to know that it would only hurt him. And that's the last thing I want to do." She stared at the doorway, a soft smile covering her face. While she paid no attention to Nadir, he arched a graying eyebrow in her direction. When Erik stepped through the doorway a moment later with a hand over his mouth, she blushed before giving him a bright smile.

Uncomfortable at the center of attention, Erik hurried over to his chair and sat down, pretending to cough to keep his hand over his mouth. He kept his eyes on his meal and felt both the eyes of his dining companions leave him. He took several deep breaths and stared at the food, no longer hungry for any of it. Closing his eyes, he removed his hand from his mouth. _I can listen to their gasp of horror. I can't bear to see it._

His ears were met with quiet conversation between Christine and Nadir. It is as if they don't even notice. Bewildered, he looked up at them, confused at their agreeable reactions. Christine even smiled in his direction and asked him a harmless question, a subtle invitation to join them.

 _They accept me._

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Well into the night, Nadir said his parting pleasantries and left after accepting Erik's invitation to come back a few days later. Christine waved at him as he walked into the night and turned to face Erik who stood awkwardly in the hallway. His head hung low as he attempted to cover his face with shadows. His new mask had shocked her a little when he first walked in before supper. Of all the things I expected, that wasn't it.

The new mask arched between his lips and nose, revealing his mouth to the viewer as well as a square chin and the beginning of a bony jaw. What concerned her most though lay in the middle of the new opening.

His lips were cracked and raw.

Whenever they moved, the thin skin pulled and split. Through the entire evening, she had noticed this and flinched in pain more than once when a tiny bit of blood appeared from one of the cracks. _I know whenever my lips split I'm miserable. Erik, you must be so uncomfortable all day._ Taking his hand, she led him out of the hallway to the couch in the living room. Snuggling under the sheepskin blanket, she patted the spot beside her.

Without a word of disagreement, he sat down and fumbled with the blanket as she tucked it around him, determined he would be warm. Boldly laying her head on his shoulder, she asked,

"Erik, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?" His muscles tightened beneath her head.

"Whatever you would like, Christine." he responded numbly. She started to ask her question and stopped, not liking how he answered her.

"No, not whatever I like. I asked you if you would be okay with it. If you're not, tell me." Gently, she patted his arm and closed her eyes, waiting to hear the rumble of his voice in his chest. She didn't have to wait long.

"Is it about my face?"

"Sort of," she answered truthfully. Erik was silent for a while before he whispered,

"Ask away."

"Do your lips hurt you?" She felt the play of muscles through his shoulder as he nodded.

"The skin is thin and… I have a bad habit of biting my lips." He looked down at her and dared to reach forward, lightly caressing a lock of hair. "Don't worry about it though. I don't notice them much anymore."

Christine opened her eyes and looked up at him, frowning.

"Of course I'm going to worry. You're hurting. Do you think I will be able to ignore that?" Erik almost shrank away from her.

"I could wear my old mask." He offered, subconsciously reaching up to cover his mouth. "You wouldn't have to see this. I know it's ugly." He didn't care to be reminded of the general hideousness of his face. _Besides, she shouldn't have to see any of it. If she doesn't see, it won't bother her._

"Do you think that I can forget you're in pain just because you cover it? And don't call yourself ugly. I don't see any ugliness. I only see wounds that require healing."

"Then you are not looking hard enough and Erik is too much of a selfish coward to convince you otherwise." Sighing, she left that battle for another day and wrapped herself closer to him.

"One day, one day you'll see yourself through my eyes. But, for now, just trust me." She smiled up at him. "Next time I come visit I'll bring petroleum jelly and we'll see if we can heal your lips. The last thing I want is for you to be in pain." That soft smile covered her face as she burrowed into his bony arm and blinked sleepily. With her eyes closed, she didn't notice the tears pouring down his cheeks as he listened to her gentle words.

 _You are too good to me._ Looking down at her blonde curls draping over his arm, he lightly stroked it. _I think I love you._


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Now, be prepared for chapters. I have decided to stop messing around with boring stuff and actually get to the meat of the story! If I want this done before I leave for college in August, I have to get moving. I have another chapter in for my beta reader to look over (very promising with action!) and the next one already in the thought. So, get ready. STUFF WILL HAPPEN (for once)!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _ArtemisBare_ : Who doesn't want to hug "our little damaged murder puppy"! HE NEEDS IT VERY BADLY! Hugs and kisses and lots of love. Thank you for reviewing!

 _Child of Dreams:_ You are entirely correct!

 _Not a Ghost3:_ That was my intention. I see I have succeeded in my plans…*evil cackle* In all truth, it had me melting.

 _Whatanidea15_ : I'm glad I could update too! Thank you for taking a moment to review!

 _E.M.K.81:_ Yes, the choice of separating work from family is never an easy one. We'll see what Dalir comes up with. And, Christine…yes, she will have a hard time with it. The question is: will she be strong enough? Thank you for reading and reviewing!

 _AnotherSilentObserver_ : *gives you bandages for your heart* *posts this chapter knowing it will be ripped to shreds again soon*

 _peanutpup_ : You'll have to read it to the end to find out!

 _Lunacat_ : I'm sorry you gave up hope! I knew that would probably happen for a lot of my readers with the distance between updates. Hopefully now we'll have them more regularly. I need this done before August so when I start college I don't have to worry about it on top of school work. So, be expecting more chapters in rapid succession!

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Word Count: 1999

"Was" Count: 6

"Were" Count: 0

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CHAPTER 16

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Maybe it was the realization of his admission.

Maybe it was the claustrophobic feeling of her arms tangled through his.

Maybe it was her kindness throughout the evening.

Whether it was all these things or just one that acted as the trigger, it didn't matter. Erik felt his throat closing and his breathing became ragged. His diaphragm locked up inside his chest. Panic spread through every limb. Muscles tightened.

Desperate to escape the claustrophobia, he suddenly shot to his feet, unsettling Christine who had been quietly napping against his arm. She tumbled against the soft cushions of the couch, her blue eyes blinking in confusion. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked,

"Erik, what's wrong?" He shook his head, attempting to clear it, but the air felt thick and heavy. His addiction sang in his mind, a siren luring him back with the promise of calm and relaxation. He found himself pushing away from Christine.

"It's getting late. You should go home and rest." He started to turn away, showing her the expanse of his bony back and hiding from himself the mild look of hurt and confusion in her eyes.

"If you say so, Erik. I suppose it has been a busy day." She stood up and brushed the wrinkles from her dress. "When shall we meet up again?"

"I…I don't know. I'll message you. I'm…" He hesitated for a moment, the thought of lying to her abhorrent despite his need for her to stay away for him to clear his head. "I'm going out of country again. I don't know for how long." His suit stuck to his body as he started to sweat. The collar added to the tightening around his throat.

"All right. Safe trip and a swift return." She gave him a smile an endearing smile that skewered his heart and floated out of the room, the white butterfly turned tormentor. As soon as the door slammed behind him, a sick feeling slithered into his stomach.

 _What have I done? I lied to her. I lied to her. Again._ His mind scrambled to justify it. It threw him options that varied from the fact that she would be better off not knowing about his addiction to the fact that he needed time away from her to sort out his thoughts, and she wouldn't understand.

 _I lied to her._

Unwilling to do anything, he ran up the stairs to his conscience killer. In that moment, he almost wished she wouldn't come back. She wouldn't lose anything, and he would lose everything, a fitting punishment for an unforgivable crime.

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"Christine?" She jumped at the voice just over her shoulder, sloshing the coffee onto the counter. Her coworker looked at her weirdly, an empty tray tucked under her arm. "Christine, you look… a little absent today. Is everything alright?"

The blonde nodded once, quickly cleaning up the coffee mess and handing the cleaned cup to the customer with sugar and cream.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…preoccupied. Nothing to worry about." She looked down at the floor and fiddled with the hem of her apron. "It's just…my friend should have been back from his trip by now. But, there hasn't been a single word."

"How long is he usually gone?" the girl asked, passing the tray off to another waitress bound for the kitchen. She walked beside Christine and leaned on the counter.

"No more than a week. It's been a week and a half already, nearly two weeks. I'm worried." She sank onto a stool and lowered her head into her hands. "What do I do? I don't want to appear overly protective or clingy since he did say he was going out of town. But he acted strangely last time we saw each other. I don't know."

"Listen, girl, if he is a friend, he'll understand your concern over not hearing from him. It wouldn't hurt to drop him a text to see if he's okay." She gave Christine a big grin and slid her some silverware to wrap in napkins. "Besides, it might do his ego wonders." She winked and went about her work, humming a quiet tune. Christine stared at the napkins and utensils before her, resolving to think of something to say that wouldn't sound clingy. _It wouldn't hurt to boost his ego. It might even do him good!_

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As soon as she got home, she sat down with her phone and crafted a short and sweet message to Erik. After multiple edits and thinking about it over chicken nuggets and noodles, she finally sent it.

 _Hey, Erik, just wondering how your trip is going. I hope everything is going well for you._

The message sent, she closed the browser on her phone and went to bed, confident she would receive a message come morning.

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It had been two weeks since she'd sent her message to him. He never responded. No calls, no texts, no messages. Several times she'd logged onto her account to see that he had logged on during the day, but he had left without a word to her. The worry ate at her stomach. Her employer had remarked twice about the bags under her eyes and inquired if she needed anything. She always told him no and went on about her work, trying to pretend everything was alright and that she hadn't lost her only friend.

Every night as she tried to sleep, she would racked her brain to remember if she'd done something wrong to cause him to distance himself from her. Had she been too familiar? She enjoyed physical touch, something she lacked in her regular life. He seemed to have enjoyed it too.

She cried herself to sleep at night, heartsick that he might have rejected her forever.

Monday evening rolled around, her one night off.

Erik had been active five minutes previous without messaging her. She tried not to stare at the number and think of all the things that could have gone wrong since her disturbed friend's last words to her. He had acted so strangely. Trying to cry over those few small words under his name, she went to the kitchen to boil a cup of tea, her last valiant attempt to calm her nerves.

The ringing of her cellphone interrupted her. She dove for it, hoping to see Erik's name on the caller ID, only to find Nadir's smiling face greeting her. Disappointed but hopeful that he might have news of their mutual friend, she tapped the green answer button and picked up the call,

"Nadir, what's up?"

 _-I'm calling about Erik. Have you heard from him at all since our dinner together?-_

"No, not a word." She tried to contain a scared sob. "He's been silent. I see on the website that he's logged in multiple times but he never contacted me. He told me he was going out of the country?" She offered the solution weakly, trying to convince herself that it was still applicable after over a month.

 _-Oh dear. Oh dear… Christine, please don't alarm yourself. Sit down and take a deep breath. You sound like you're panicking.-_

"I am!" she said, taking a seat and trying to keep her voice from breaking. "A month has passed without a word from him. I'm worried! Something could have happened. He should have been back by now!"

 _-Erik is fine. He knows how to take care of himself. Now, you said he said that he was going out of country?-_

"Yes. I assumed it was just another one of his trips that would be over in a week or two. The last one went quickly." She caught herself starting to hyperventilate.

 _-Take a deep breath. Christine. May I come over to your house so we talk about this face to face?-_

"Of course. I'll text you my address, so you have it. Do you…do you think it could be serious?" Her voice grew small as she huddled up in the armchair.

 _-Even when I knew Erik, he was a reckless sort of person. I don't know how much he's changed. Just wait for me.-_

Christine attempted to calm herself and hung up, texting Nadir her address and remaining in the armchair until a few steady knocks landed on her apartment door. Running to the door, she glanced through the peephole to see the older gentleman standing there, worry wrinkles creasing his face. She unlocked the deadbolt and the sliding latch before letting him inside the ordinary apartment.

"Nadir, what's going on?" she demanded as soon as he crossed her threshold. "Tell me!"

"Christine, take a breath. I never meant to work you up like this." He gave her a kindly smile that didn't reach his preoccupied eyes.

"I've been worked up. Been worked up for several weeks. I just can't show it. I go to work, bags under my eyes, and hide my churning stomach. I come home and try to sleep, all the time wondering if he's okay or if he's decided to move on. Maybe this is just his way of saying goodbye? I don't want to lose him, Nadir! I care for that man more than…" She trailed off and shakily wiped a few tears from her eyes. Nadir's heart went out to the quaking, sobbing girl in front of him. _She is too young to endure Erik's shenanigans._

"I don't think so, little one. Let's sit down." He shepherded her over to an overstuffed couch and kept her tucked close as they sat down. "Tell me exactly what happened the night you last saw Erik. Maybe we can make something of what he told you." She recounted the evening with stunning clarity, remembering every detail as she had gone over it millions of times during the intervening weeks. Once finished, she accepted the napkin he handed her and cleaned her face, attempting to look somewhat normal and in control.

"Well, I know Erik has not been out of the country. I drove near his estate at least four times and there has been signs of life. I have texted once every day for the past week with no response." He opened his mouth to continue speaking when Christine interrupted, her eyes going wide _. He is a sick man! That medicine! Anything could have happened!_

"We have to go. Now. We have to make sure he's okay!" She tried to bound from the couch. Grabbing her hand firmly, Nadir looked at her, faintly confused at her vehemence.

"What do you know that I don't?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"He is a sick man. He has injections that he takes. I didn't pry into what was actually wrong but…if he is sick and needs help, we need to be there!" She tugged her hand free and fluttered about the house, grabbing what she thought necessary as Nadir contemplated her words. Before she could breeze out the door, he grabbed her arm.

"Christine, what did the needles look like?"

She paused, trying to remember.

"Just ordinary needles. There were a few bottles in the drawer with them but I didn't have a chance to read the label. It was just a clear-ish liquid in a medical bottle. Like the ones you'd get when you buy antibiotics for animals."

"Perhaps I should go alone," he suggested upon hearing her comments. "It might not be a pretty sight." She straightened up, tossing her long blonde hair over one shoulder.

"I am going with you. He's my friend as much as yours. If he needs us, we should be there for him. No matter what's wrong. I'm not scared, Nadir." Those words coming from such a tiny, delicate frame nearly brought a smile to his face. The woman had courage, or ignorance on her side. _If those syringes are what I think they are…it will take all the courage she has to keep going._

"Come on, Christine. But don't say I didn't warn you."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Remember when I said something about stuff happening? Well, it is. I just got back from a cruise and am settling in for some heavy writing while I get ready for school. I'm hoping y'all will like this chapter. It just felt like something that would happen like this…you'll see. Review and let me know what you think! Thank you to Mary the Canary for helping!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.

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Reviews:

 _Erinunu_ : You're welcome! Such a good word "peon." I like it a lot myself!

 _Lunacat_ : You've been around for quite a while and have stuck to the story despite all the ups and downs! I really do appreciate it! And, yes, Erik might be a little bit of trouble…You'll see.

 _PhantomFemme du Pantages_ : Well, hang on tight because you're in for quite a ride! It's going to take a lot of Christine to deal with all of Erik's issues.

 _ArtemisBare_ : Muehehehe! We shall see what happens!

 _peanutpup_ : Yay! Thank you for reading!

 _Child of Dreams:_ How did you guess?

 _Guest_ : I'm sorry it wasn't sooner! I was out of state/country these past two weeks without a computer. But, I have returned wanting to write!

 _E.M.K.81_ : You shall see what he's been up to and exactly how much trouble he might be in with Christine… So, here's your chapter! I hope you enjoy!

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Word Count: 1385

"Was" Count: 2

"Were" Count: 2

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CHAPTER 17

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The house stood dark and foreboding against the night sky, lit by the dying purple rays of the sun. Christine shuddered as they abandoned the vehicle and continued on foot from the broken bridge across the pasture to the house. A few lights on the lower floor faintly gleamed from behind thick curtains. A deathly silence reigned over the place; not even the evening birds twittered on the way to their roosts. The sounds of their feet changed from crunching grass to grinding gravel as they approached the front door of the house. Nadir walked purposefully up the steps and rang the doorbell once before trying to peer inside the house through the little window. A heavy curtain blocked his view.

Christine shivered again and looked about as they waited for a response from the door. None came. Leaving Nadir, she crept around the back of the house to a two-car garage, the rolling door closed though the small human door on the side unlocked. She entered, a motion light flickering on immediately. On the right side sat an antique convertible from the 1950s, glowing black with silver chrome trim. On the left, a two-seater Harley Davidson motorcycle propped itself up on its kickstand, also painted obsidian black.

Also to her left, a door lead into the house. She tested the handle, finding it turned. She pushed, and the door swung open. Relieved to have found a way in, she ran back outside to call Nadir who had just raised his hand to knock on the door again.

"Nadir! I found a way in through the garage. Come on. He isn't going to answer." She disappeared back into the garage, not waiting for him to respond.

Tiptoeing through the house, she took in the mess that greeted her eyes in the dining room. While furniture remained upright, paper, dirty dishes, and needles covered most flat surfaces. She lightly gasped, the sight nearly causing her to be sick. She floated into the living room, finding a similar mess, only this time a violin lay among the mess next to some sheet music.

She bent down and picked up the violin, setting it somewhere safe before picking up the music.

"White Butterfly." She whispered, flipping through the messily written music. At the bottom a message had been scribbled but she couldn't read the scrawl. Setting the music down, she reached for one of the needles, careful to keep away from the point. Her hands shook as a block of ice settled in her stomach.

"Nadir…" she whispered, turning to face him with the needle settled in her palm. "This doesn't mean what I think it means, does it?" Her whole body shook at the possibly before then unconsidered.

"Yes, Christine, I believe it does." He gently removed the syringe from her hands and set it back on the table. "I'm sorry."

"You don't look too surprised." Christine growled, unsure of what to feel about it all. _How does one feel when they're abandoned for weeks then discover their best friend is a drug addict._ Terribly shaken, she took several shuddering breaths and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. When the blue pools opened, they were filled with determination.

"We have to find him. I don't care if he's too high to even know my name. We have to find him and make sure he's alive." Christine locked her jaw in place to keep it from quivering and brushed the tears away that had built under her eyelids. Focused, she ran up the stairs towards his bedroom.

Flinging open the door, she fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on, only to find no one in the coffin occupying the center of the room. A cold panic clutched at her throat as she bolted for his office. The door slammed against the wall, echoing about the empty room. No one again. Nearly sick, she ran towards the spare bedroom she had taken him to when he fainted. Quietly, she opened the door and stepped inside.

A skeleton lay in the bed, his only clothing a pair of loose trousers secured with a belt.

Her heart slammed to a stop in her chest as she ran her eyes over the gaunt form and twisted face of what could only be her best friend. _So that's what he has so resolutely hidden from me._ Covering her mouth to suppress a gasp, she crept towards the figure. Only the faint rising and falling of his bare chest informed her he still breathed. His skin possessed the color of pewter except where bruises littered his arms. Some were red and swollen while others had faded into purples, greens, and yellows.

In one bony hand lay a syringe. Careful not to alert him to her presence, she picked up the syringe and set it aside. Her eyes scanned his torso, nearly sobbing at the ribs jutting against tautly-pulled skin. The concave stomach made her wonder when he had last eaten.

Finally, she let her eyes wander to his face. To her horror, she had to swallow several times to keep herself from throwing up. Bits of scraggly black hair clung tightly to the edge of a graying forehead. A boney ridge replaced eyebrows above his sunken, closed eyes. And, below his eyes, a gaping hole lay where a nose should have existed.

Then, she heard Nadir approaching the door.

 _I can't let him see Erik without his mask! I can't!_ Running towards the door, she cracked it open to hiss at Nadir.

"Don't come in! Go find one of his masks in his bedroom." Nadir gave her the oddest look but disappeared down the hall into the bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she sank to the floor and stared at the balls of his feet, hanging off the edge of the foot of the bed.

"Oh Erik," she whispered, "I…" She dropped her head into her lap and openly cried, half from relief that he was alive and half from self-hatred at her reaction. _He's my best friend! I won't let it bother me. Not right now. Not when he needs me most._ A light knock sounded at the door.

"Christine, I have a mask." She stood up and cracked the door open, slipping her hand out to take the mask.

"Give me one moment." Steeling her frazzled nerves, she walked over to Erik and cradled his head in her arm, his deformed face resting against her chest as she fumbled with the mask. After several failed attempts, she managed to secure it enough and laid his head back down on the pillow. His eyelids shuddered but he didn't rouse.

With his face covered from the view of strangers, she let Nadir inside the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, a look of pure pity covering his face.

"Oh Christine…" he whispered, walking to the side of his unconscious friend. He picked up the syringe she had removed from his hand and the bottle that had sat unnoticed on the table. "Morphine. And, by the looks of everything, he's severely addicted."

"Will he be okay? Did…did he overdose?" At that moment, she didn't care about tomorrow and how severely addicted her friend was to that drug _. I want to know he'll live! Everything else can be dealt with soon enough._ Nadir lifted his wrist and checked his pulse. He laid a hand on his shoulder and stomach to check his skin before examining his fingertips.

"No, he hasn't overdosed. He's just sleeping. Give his system several hours and he will flush the morphine out of him. I'll go make some coffee and we'll settle in to watch him until he wakes up." Nadir sighed and ran tired hand through his hair as he wandered out of the room and down to the kitchen. Christine dragged a chair over to beside his bed and took one limp hand in hers.

"Erik, I'm here for you. We'll walk through this together." She passed a hand over his forehead, remembering the deformity she had seen beneath it. "Your face…is…unique, but, I won't reject you for it. I'm not your adopted mother." The sentiment repeated in her head _. I'm not your adopted mother. I can love you when she did not._


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Ah, Chapter 18 has arrived. I cannot tell you when the next one will come out. I leave for college in a little over a week. I will do my best but this is crazy time. Don't worry though! I will not abandon this story! I may simply be delayed.

Sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: Don't own Phantom. Just own this plot and my own characters, however bad they may be.

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Reviews:

 _peanutpup:_ Thank you!

 _ArtemisBare_ : It shall be heartbreaking I assure you! I plan to make each and every one of you cry. (And probably myself as well.) Thank you very much for your best wishes! They are appreciated!

 _PhantomFemme du Pantages:_ I'm always glad when a character handles Erik's face in a realistic and not annoying way. Sure, it's a shock but any reasonable human being can get over it. I hope you like this chapter!

 _E.M.K.81_ : That's what I was going for. I didn't want just every other unmasking scene that every fanfiction has. And, yes, when he finds out…well, you'll just have to wait and read.

 _Child of Dreams:_ Yep.

 _Whatanidea15_ : Thank you! I wanted to handle this in a different way and make it interesting.

 _Lunacat_ : The cruise was great! I really liked seeing Mexico. We shall see what Erik has to say about Christine…

 _frnknfrtr_ : I usually don't reply to reviews that aren't on the previous chapter but I loved your comments so much I just wanted to say thank you for reviewing! I would talk about them all but that might end up longer than the chapter so…just thank you! I hope you keep reading and enjoying the book!

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Word Count: 2208

"Was" Count: 3

"Were" Count: 1

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CHAPTER 18

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The digital clock glared red at her from the nightstand, taunting her with time that seemed to drag slower, taking forever to change from 2:59 to 3:00 am. Dalir had already succumbed to the pull of sleep, sitting hunched over in his chair. A tiny line of drool escaped his half-open mouth. His empty coffee cup hung precariously from the tips of his right-hand fingers, rocking closer to the falling with every shift in his position. Christine glanced at her own full cup of brown sludge and wrinkled her nose.

Sleep tempted her but too much weighed her mind down, keeping it from drifting away into the problem-less world of dreams. Namely, what was she to do when he woke?

 _I've made up my mind. He will have to leave it behind. I won't watch him waste away in the clutches of that vile drug. But, will he leave it? Will he do what is necessary to rid himself of it?_ She looked down at the gray hand that rested in hers. Purple vessels bulged the skin, carrying the drug-infused blood to the tips of his fingers and back to his heart.

Following the vein, her eyes ran over his arms, like they had a hundred times during the night. Her heart spasmed again as she imagined him, coming out of the morphine haze, groping for another needle and piercing his skin with the cold metal. She had a mild fear of needles, disliking the feeling of the needle resting in her skin. The days when she had sold her plasma to make ends meet were still nightmarish in her memories.

She tore her eyes away from the bruising and onto the masked face. This mask covered everything in a ghoulish visage, more macabre than reality. She couldn't explain why the scowling eye sockets and downturned mouth, all frozen in hard plastic tormented her so much. It reminded her eerily of the ancient masks worn by actors of the Greek period, the hell-like features that covered their real expressions.

Why did a mask upset her more than the face beneath it?

 _He is very ugly. I couldn't lie about that. But, has it grown on me? Have I secretly wanted to see his face for so long that now, no matter what it looks like, I still want to see it?_

Her mind tried to imagine emotion written on the skeleton canvas. How would the skin around his eyes wrinkle if he smiled? How would a blush stain his gray cheeks? How would his golden eyes look no longer hidden by the mask's empty eye sockets? What expressions could he show without the covering of cloth or plastic?

Her fingers twitched to take off the mask, but she resisted. He wouldn't want even Dalir to accidentally see _. I don't know if he'll even forgive me for seeing._

Lightly stroking his bony fingers, her thoughts landed on the chapped, broken lips that barely sealed his mouth from the outside world. _How would those feel against mine?_ A shock ran through her as that thought assaulted her brain. A heavy blush spread over her cheeks, and she thanked all sacred that both Dalir and Erik slept on while she struggled with her embarrassment.

As the night wore on and the sun slowly peeked over the horizon, she asked herself the hard questions and searched her mind for answers.

 _Can I walk through this trial with him?_

 _Can I be the helpmeet he needs?_

A burst of rain pattered on the roof as a bolt of lightning shot across the sky outside the window. A crash of thunder soon followed. Erik twitched, subconsciously responding to the sounds of the sudden storm starting to rage outside. Lightly, she stroked his hand, humming a single, calming note. As he lay there in fitful slumber, her thoughts drifted another direction.

 _Could I wake up to that face every morning for the rest of my life?_

 _Could I choose to love him every day?_

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The storm still rattled on through the night and well into the next morning. Dalir roused himself around five o'clock and made more coffee, offering some of the fresh brew to the sleep-deprived girl sitting watchful by Erik's bed.

She briefly shook her head, merely asking for a cup of water because her throat was parched.

Without a word, he followed her directions before informing her in hushed tones for fear of waking the fitfully sleeping man in the bed, that he would be looking around the house. Christine simply nodded, barely hearing his words. He watched exhaustion try to pull her into sleep, but she resisted, giving Erik's sweaty had a compulsive squeeze.

Worried for her health but aware that she'd never consider sleeping, Dalir withdrew from the bedroom and walked down the hallway to Erik's office. Carefully opening it, he entered and began a detailed, detective-like search of the office contents.

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The digital clock had long passed eight in the morning before Erik began to stir. He shifted in bed, his arm coming to rest over his face. As his arm hit the mask, he shot up in bed, his chest heaving from pure panic. Christine jerked wide-awake, gripping his hand firmly.

"Erik!" she exclaimed as he cast his wide eyes about. "Erik, it's okay. I'm here." He gasped for breath and fell back onto the bed. "Just breathe. You're okay."

"C-Christine?" he stammered, his golden eyes landing on her. "Christine, what are you doing here? Why are you here? How did you get in?"

"I was so scared for you!" she exclaimed, bowing her head against the mattress next to his still-shirtless chest. "I was so scared. You hadn't contacted me for so long and Dalir said you hadn't left on a trip. I had to make sure you were well." Lifting her head, she wiped away the few tears of relief that had escaped from her eyes. Erik gave a half-hearted laugh, seemingly ignorant to his half-dressed state.

"And now you know." He turned his face away from her, unable to face her with the shame burning inside him. He found he didn't have the heart to take his hand out of hers. She would be leaving soon enough anyway after all. What could be wrong with him enjoying the feeling of her hand for those last few moments? _She'll be leaving soon. She knows all about your sickening addiction. She's a smart girl; she'll leave._

"Yes, I do. I know you lied to me at least twice now. Once, by omission and once, by commission." Her hand shook in his, a physical reaction of her inner struggle to contain her frustration. "I know that I've been a fool for not seeing it earlier or even thinking you might be addicted to any number of drugs." He felt the soft slide of her skin against his as her other hand encased his bony fingers in warmth. "And, I know that this is going to be a long, hard road to walk. But we'll walk it together."

He shook his head and glanced back her, admiring the intentions of her words but aware, in a way she never could be, of the foolishness of them. Foggy as his mind was from sleep, he knew she couldn't save him. _Such a brave and kind girl. She thinks she can save the monster. Such a sweet girl._

"You needn't walk through that road, Christine. I am not worth it." When she opened her mouth to answer, he quietly hushed her. "I've spent twenty-five years addicted to morphine. There is nothing left of me. I'm hollow. You would be wise to go find another to bestow your generous attentions. Leave this dilapidated freak to live the rest of his existence." _I won't fault you._

"Friends don't leave when things get rough, Erik." Christine responded, peering down at his bruised arms.

"Are we friends? I bought your companionship. You sold your time to entertain a sad old fool who craved the presence of another human being."

"Just because we started out odd doesn't mean our friendship isn't as real or meaningful. I consider you my best friend. I'm sorry…I thought you did too." She hung her head, feeling embarrassment creeping up her neck. A few tears of disappointment gathered in the corners of her eyes. _Maybe I just fooled myself into thinking he cared so much._

"No, Christine…no." As weak as he felt, he reached out to wipe away one of the tears that had escaped and trailed down her porcelain cheek. His fingers shook faintly but, before his hand reached her, he saw his arm. Or, more like the lack of clothing on his arm. Panic stabbed his concave stomach as he broke his eyes away from her and to his decidedly unclothed chest. In a blind panic, he grabbed for the blanket folded underneath his feet to cover his body. As soon as the blanket covered his gaunt chest, he clutched at his cheeks and breathed a deep sigh of relief to find the mask still in place. _She didn't see my face. I would rather her see me completely naked then see my face._

"Christine, where is my shirt?" His tight tone drew Christine out of her misery.

"I don't know. You didn't have it when I found you. I didn't want to wake you by trying to dress you. Shall I go find you a shirt?" He nodded, keeping his entire body hidden under the scratchy blanket. It irritated his skin but he didn't care at the moment. _Anything to keep her from seeing me anymore than she has._

Beauty gave him a little smile through the tears hovering in her eyes. His heart spasmed but she left before he could say anything _. Look what you did. You made her cry._ Feeling horribly guilty, he waited until she returned with one of his white shirts draped over one arm.

"Here," she said, turning her back to allow him to dress. "Are you hungry? I can go make something in the kitchen?" He pulled himself up the bed into a sitting position, bracing himself against the wave of nausea that hit him. His fingers shook as he buttoned the shirt and sank back onto the pillows. After swallowing, he spoke,

"No, I better not eat." He closed his eyes as the thought of food made his stomach roll again. Christine stood silent at the side of the bed before taking her seat. They remained silent, both deep in thought. Finally, Christine broke the silence,

"You have to quit." she whispered simply, her soft blue eyes falling on his shaking form.

"I know."

"I'll take you to the hospital." As she rose to get Dalir, his hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

"No! Christine, you can't! No, please, anything but that!" Confused, she looked back at him and saw terror written in his golden eyes. "Please." She heard the faintest of whimpers in his pleading tone.

"Erik, you can't go through withdrawal and detox without medical attention. You could…" She refused to say the word that her brain supplied. "Things could happen. I won't lose you!"

"Christine, I can't go to the hospital. I can do this alone. It will be hell, but I can do this alone." He closed his eyes and loosened his grip on her wrist. She stood still, another set of tears gathering in her eyes, the result of exhaustion and overwhelming emotions.

"I just want you to be better. I just…I don't want you to suffer while you're getting better." She sniffed and sat on the edge of the bed, trying but failing to stop the tears.

"There is no stopping that. Morphine withdrawal and detox is almost unbearably miserable. Since it means so much to you, I'll go through it. But, I ask that I be allowed to do it on my own. At least this try. If I fail…then…" he took a deep breath. "We'll go to the hospital."

"I will call 911 if anything happens that might risk your life. I will." Christine promised, fixing him with her stubborn gaze. "Believe me."

"I accept that, Christine." Her shoulders drooped, and she sighed, wiping away the last of her tears. Her eyelids closed for a moment before snapping open as she attempted to stay awake. "You need to sleep. There is nothing to be done for Erik right now."

She nodded and pushed at his side. Confused, he scooted away. She pushed again, and he repeated his action. Giving him a sleepy smile, she laid down beside him, curling against his side, her hair spilling over his chest, neck, and right arm as she laid her head on his sternum. He blinked once or twice as she shifted around, curling her legs close to her body. One arm tucked under her head and her other laid across his sunken stomach. Her fingers teased his shirt as they twisted into the cloth. She sighed peacefully and fell asleep, leaving the masked man gasping for breath.

 _You are an angel, Christine. A beautiful, thoughtful angel._

As she slept, he cried for no reason in particular.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

No, I am not dead. No, I was not abducted by aliens. No, I didn't get sucked into a video game. Depending on the game, the last one might be fun... Beside the point! I return with another chapter! No, I haven't abandoned the book. I will be finishing this. I don't know when because I have finals in a few weeks then summer school/work as much as possible. I will do my best to finish it in a reasonable amount of time.

Many thanks to Mary the Canary for editing this for me! I'm so glad she was willing to reprise her role out of blue!

Please enjoy!

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom! Just all these random characters I created that no one probably wants...

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Reviews:

 _PhantomFemme du Pantages_ : Thank you for the review! Yeah, they have a long road ahead of them. Even beyond just the starting effects of leaving behind the drug. But, they are trying!

 _E.M.K.81_ : I suppose we'll find out what he thinks about Dalir's involvement! And, yeah, he could have died. Withdrawal isn't a walk in the park.

 _ArtemisBare_ : Good job! I hope the wait was worth it! And, that the next one won't be so long. (I do have a class I can usually write in...)

 _peanutpup_ : Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this next installment!

 _Lunacat_ : So far so good! I really like my school and my friends. It's been a lot of fun.

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Word Count: 1932

"Was" Count: 1

"Were" Count: 0

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CHAPTER 19

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Christine found her job far harder than she had anticipated. His withdrawal-induced nausea hit with full force soon after she woke up and stubbornly clung to him for days. Chills and muscle pain soon followed, determined to make his life too miserable to live. The pain spiraled him into anxiety and depression which led to insomnia. Dalir found some over-the-counter pain meds which Christine carefully administered to relieve what pain she could.

On the fifth night, she sleeplessly waited by his bed with a phone in her hand in case he took a turn for the worse.

She heard his heart trying to beat out of his chest. She saw his glassy eyes scanning the room in their disorientation. In the middle of the night, he would call for strangers, convinced he saw them at the edges of his vision. Names of people she didn't recognize and, at his reaction to their presence, hoped never to know. Dalir remained close by but silent, almost sullen in his disposition. Christine felt something bothering him but kept her mind too focused on Erik to worry about the quiet Persian gentleman who spent most of his days in Erik's study.

On the sixth day, his fever broke. The nausea faded, leaving him a weak shell of a man, shaken to the core of his being. For a day, he wouldn't speak to anyone, his eyes still golden sparks of glass locked behind a porcelain cage. As the evening wore on, Christine reached out, trying to talk to him.

"Erik? Erik?" she quietly called, stretching her hand and lightly brushing his bare knuckles with the pads of her fingers. They twitched in response to her touch but nothing more. Encouraged by the twitch, she curled hands around his and lightly traced the blue blood vessels, running just beneath the gray skin. _If I didn't know better, I would consider this the hand of a dead man._

"Erik, can you hear me?"

Slowly, as if made of broken machinery, his head turned to face her, his golden eyes blinking once as he took in her face.

"You're so beautiful…" he whispered, his heavenly voice like gravel from disuse. "The most beautiful white butterfly."

Christine knitted her eyebrows together and looked down at her outfit, a simple white dress that loosely draped over her figure. As his words settled in, she laughed, remembering how she had looked in the mirror that morning with gray bags under her eyes and without her makeup.

"I beg to differ." She tucked a tangled lock of hair behind her ear and sighed, emotionally and physically exhausted, hardly feeling the beauty he claimed she had.

"No, you're always beautiful. Always. You are so kind. So kind. I'll tarnish your wings. Your beautiful white wings." His rambling ended with a sigh, his lungs shuddering and rattling within his ribs. "What did I do this week? How did I act?"

Christine shook her head, golden curls quivering around her drawn face.

"Wouldn't it best not to dwell on that? Those days are over. Let's look towards the future."

"Christine, what did I do?" His trembling voice rallied and filled with power to deliver the words. Reaching out to take his hand, she smoothed the wrinkles in his gray skin. He seemed to forget momentarily about his words and focused solely on her touch. Gathering herself, she wrapped both hands around his and began to speak:

"You were so sick. You barely slept. I didn't know someone could be so sick and still live. I thought I was going to lose you." She shook her head to gather her nerve. "In your delirium, you shouted names. All these people I've never heard you mention. Occasionally, you would say something about how they died." She refused to voice her dark mind's unspoken question of _did you participate in their death_? She didn't want the answer.

"But you're better now. After five days, you came out of it. I could breathe because Dalir told me the worst was over. You had kicked the withdrawal. He did caution that you would be craving still. I put thought into it and thought I might stay a few more days until you're feeling better. You really shouldn't be up and about in your state." A shaking hand tucked a golden curl behind her ear. _And I don't want to leave you alone. I'm afraid._ Her other hand slid away from his and rested on the edge of the bed.

"But your work…" He trailed off, only then seeming to remember she even had a job that she had most likely abandoned to remain at his bedside for hours.

"I took this week off and told my boss a dear family friend was deathly ill with no one else to care for them. There was no complaint. I'll simply go back to work and drive from here every day." She could swallow the gas price. It would be entirely worth it to know that Erik would be safe.

"Erik couldn't ask it of you."

"You're not asking. Just say yes and I'll stay as long as you need me." His eyes remained locked on hers, a thousand emotions creating a tumultuous sea of molten gold. His hands creeped away from his side and shakily curled around her fingers, warming at her touch. She gave him the softest smile and joined their hands completely together, meeting him halfway in his attempt at touch. This seemed more intimate, more tender then her previous touches. It left sparks on her skin.

"Yes."

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In the future, Erik would say that those six days eclipsed all the other horrible days of his life and reigned as the worst because during those six, he had relived the horrors of his life over and over again. The only thing that had kept him from wishing himself to Sheol was the soft voice of a butterfly, who spoke louder than the damned souls he'd sent to hell.

That last day when he had finally regained some cognition of his surrounding, he spent hours wondering what she might do now. Her fine words had stood strong for this long. Would they continue to hold true even after the worst of it, into the longer years of recovery?

She promised to stay. Her words remained strong.

 _Will I ever be completely free of this addiction? Can I, in good conscience keep her here? She is young and beautiful._

 _Surely, she has a higher lot in life than caring for a creature like me._

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"Christine, I believe I need to bathe." Now far more aware of the goings on around him, Erik had quickly discovered that his body reeked. As low as he had sunk in the past week, he wouldn't allow himself to remain in such a disgusting pool of his own filth in her presence. He made the move to leave the bed when she quickly pushed his shoulders back against the mattress.

"Oh no, you don't! You are hardly strong enough." She frowned as she looked over his prone form. "I'll give you a bed bath," she declared determinedly. The moment the words sorted through Erik's brain, he panicked. His boney hands lashed out and grabbed her wrists, almost painfully, but not so tightly as to leave bruises.

"No! No!" His golden eyes went wide with horror. She almost laughed at his mortification but refrained out of consideration for his feelings.

"Erik, I've done this before." She could easily imagine his skeletal face going white at the thought. It brought her a moment of amusement before she felt his grip tightened around her wrists and saw an angry fire burning in his eyes. Caught off guard, she froze, trapped by his hands and boiling gold eyes.

"The mask," he hissed, rising up slightly in the bed. "Have you touched the mask?" She tried to pull away, hesitating about how to answer. _I didn't actively remove it, but I saw beneath it_ … The hesitation whipped him into true fury.

"What did you do! What did you see!" he roared, finally drawing fear from her.

"When – When I found you—" Her voice shook and she leaned away from the furious figure who struggled to loom over her. "You weren't – you weren't wearing – I'm sorry!" He flung her aside, too weak to throw her to the ground but strong enough to cause her to stumble backwards from the bed. She cradled her tender wrists to her bosom and curled in on herself as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Get out." His voice turned cold, the melodic blast washing over her. She trembled before him, shaken and confused and exhausted. Desperate to find some anchor in the storm that had whipped up in the simple room, she whispered his name.

"Erik-" She reached out a quivering hand to calm him.

"GET OUT!" He bellowed.

Shaking, she sprinted from the room, tears beginning to run down her cheeks, glittering in the well-lit room. As soon as the door slammed behind her, the red faded from Erik's vision, and he realized what he done.

 _I made her cry. I hurt her. I made her cry._

Curling in on himself, he began to sob.

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Christine fled the room, her vision blurry with salty tears. She nearly fell as she ran down the stairs, holding onto the railing to keep herself upright. At the bottom, she latched onto the volute and tried to catch her breath while her throat choked on tears. _I've never seen him so angry! No…so furious!_

She half-heartedly wiped away the tears from her cheeks and blinked, her left eye stinging a little because an eyelash had washed into it. She scrubbed it out, leaving the one eye far redder than the other. Sinking to a seat on the lowest step, she buried her head into her skirts and rocked herself back and forth in the only method of self-consolation that she knew.

Dalir found her there some minutes later.

"Christine, what's wrong?" He knelt in front of her and laid a hand gently on her arm. "Christine?"

"He found out that I saw his face!" she whimpered, lifting her head to look at him. The tears had long dried, but her heart still bled inside her chest. "He threw me out of the room. He was so angry."

Dalir looked her over and sighed, moving to sit beside her, and pulled her into a hug. Five days of barely sleeping, barely eating, barely stirring from his side – only to be thrown aside for seeing his face. And by accident, no less.

"Go sleep, Christine. Your body is beyond exhausted. I will talk with Erik. Don't worry, I'm sure he will see reason soon enough and apologize." He paused, thoughtful for a moment. "That is, if you can forgive him?"

She nodded, her eyes already pulling downwards in their desire to sleep. She tried to stand, Dalir shook his head and scooped her up in his arms, the blonde girl weighing no more than a feather in his grip. By the time they reached a bedroom for her, she had less fallen asleep so much as passed out.

Falling asleep implied a certain amount of peace for the weakened woman. But, as Dalir laid her under the covers, he saw no peace in her rest.

"Don't worry. I need to talk to Erik anyway." He tucked her in and quietly left the room.

 _I need to talk to him about what I found in his study._


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

In this chapter, I would like to personally thank E.M.K.81 and their review on chapter 14 for giving me this idea which I have been building up to for a few chapters. I really appreciated it, and it solved many of my problems. Give it up for E.M.K.81!

On another note, I don't know how much writing I will be doing this summer. I am a glutton for punishment (apparently) and am trying to work as much as possible and take a biology course without being good in biology. Then, I'm taking an online economics course and working full time. In housekeeping. I will try but no promises. Do not fear though! I will probably end up getting inspiration and bombing at least one exam because I spent the night writing.

sarahandmarquis

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own characters and the plot (well, not exactly that anymore either considering I'm using someone else's idea…).

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Reviews:

 _Saphireanime:_ Thank you for your review!

 _Child of Dreams:_ Indeed…muhahaha

 _ArtemisBare_ : yes! I live on! Our murder puppy is always the queen of the drama queens. And we love him for it. Hopefully Christine does as well.

 _E.M.K.81_ : I didn't wait too long! I would have posted sooner (I've had this written for like two weeks) but work and finals and such.

 _peanutpup:_ I'm so happy I made your day! Your review made mine.

 _jessedge193:_ Yay!

 _LePianiste_ : I'm working on finishing it! I won't abandon it! Despite college!

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Word Count: 2368

"Was" Count: 2

"Were" Count: 1

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CHAPTER 20

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Dalir hesitated outside the door as he heard the weeping from within. Torn, he listened, running over and over in his head what he had found and how to reconcile it with the hurting person within the room. _Death. So much death. So much we didn't even know about. But I know he loves her. She loves him. He would stop the death for her._

When the sounds of tears ceased flowing, Dalir knocked, bracing himself for whatever he would find inside the room, and what would occur when they had finished talking. He had no idea how Erik would react to his knowledge and suggestions.

"Erik, I'm coming in." He hesitated when he heard scrambling in the room. After a moment, he entered and closed the door behind him before he looked at the sick man on the bed, covered by a sheet tucked up under his chin.

"What do you want, Dalir?"

"Well, two things actually." He walked into the room and took a seat next to the bed, smoothing a wrinkle from his faded jeans and plucking absentmindedly at a loose thread. "Why did I just put Christine to bed with tear streaks on her face? She said you lost your temper."

Pain echoed in the moan that escaped the prone man.

"She saw! Dalir, she saw!" He reached up and covered his face, almost reflectively as if the mask wasn't enough to hide the abomination beneath the plastic.

"Yes, I know that. She saw it when she found you. How does that change anything now?" Dalir kept his voice as calm as he could, not feeding into the despair radiating from the man buried beneath the blankets.

"She saw. She'll never…" He trailed off, his eyes sparkling with tears. "She'll never want to see me again, or lo-… care about me."

"You're being an idiot right now, Erik." Dalir remarked, rolling his eyes towards his brother. "If she didn't care about you, would she have spent nearly a week at your side? It wasn't pretty, but she stayed, determined to see you better."

"Pity perhaps. She's so good." Erik's hands slipped from his face and tangled in the blankets tucked up against his chin.

"Yes, of course it was pity. It was 'pity' that kept her at your side every waking moment. It was 'pity' that caused her to panic every time your breathing grew a little irregular. It was 'pity' in her eyes when she watched you at night, denying herself sleep when she desperately needed it!" Dalir nearly shouted the last words at the already shaken man. _I remember the look in her eyes when he slept beside her. The warmth, the feeling, the light. It is the look I see in Keeya's eyes whenever I come home safe._

 _It was the look in my mother's eyes when she saw my father._

"You don't have to say it so succinctly." Erik replied sullenly.

"You damn fool. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that she loves you."

Silence reigned the sole queen in the room for nearly an hour, broken only by the occasional breath or popping of Dalir's old knees. He left his friend to mull over his words, not regretting finally broaching the subject with him. Erik would never notice her feelings for him on his own. _He needed this push_.

"You…think so?" The tiniest tremble of hope wavered in his voice, striking Dalir as almost childlike. For a moment in Dalir's mind, Erik was a kid again, asking his only friend if his mother would actually happy to raise him. The image of child painted itself on the back of his eyelids and gave him pause, nearly drawing tears to his eyes. _He hasn't changed so very much after all. Still so desperate for the tiniest scrap of hope. I failed him once. But Christine isn't my mother._

"Yes. I was wrong years ago, and you paid for it in pain and suffering all your life. But I am not wrong here, Erik. Ami. I firmly believe she loves you."

"But…my face? My…actions. Oh no. She'll never forgive me now; let alone..." The words wouldn't even cross his lips. Dalir reached over and clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Apologize. You'll never know until you try. She didn't react like my mother did."

"Do you know exactly what happened to your mother?" Erik whispered, distracted in his thoughts. Dalir sighed, his hand slipping from Erik's shoulder.

"Not exactly. She never talked much after…that day. We never quite pulled the truth from her. I gathered it had to do with…" Dalir trailed off, waving in the direction of Erik's expressionless mask.

"She wanted to see the face. I wanted to make her happy; I wanted to be accepted. I took it off, and she never stopped screaming. She was going to make me cookies that day. My favorite… I had begged her to make them while you two were gone so I could have them all to myself." Dalir actually chuckled at the thought.

"Sounds like something a brother would do. Cheat me out of cookies." He shot a sly, teasing smile at Erik and sensed a faint smile in Erik's eyes at that one fond memory.

"What happened to her? How did she die?"

Dalir licked his lips once, suddenly feeling his mouth go dry. _How do I tell him she died scared? That she died thinking he would return to take her to hell?_

"That day was the straw that broke the camel's back when applied to her sanity. If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else. Another miscarriage even. She cracked, never quite recovered from the mental break. I do not believe she intended to commit suicide, but that is what it effectively boiled down to. She…stepped in front of a car six months later. We buried her next to the graves she erected for her lost children." Dalir looked down at his brother and laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"I killed her then."

"No, she destroyed herself from the inside out. She was never…stable to begin with. I have come to realize that over the years." Dalir slowly shook his head. "You didn't kill her. I never blamed you for her death. I don't think Father did either. Even in his lowest, most grief-filled moment, he never blamed you."

"I blame myself."

"Then that's self-inflicted and for you to deal with." Dalir rose to his feet, popping his knees as he did so. "Now, it's been a while since you ate. Shall I heat up some soup? Christine wouldn't leave your side, so I was left to cook for your scrawny ass."

"I'm not hungry." Erik muttered, sinking deeper into the pillows that cradled his masked skull.

"You will be after a shower. You reek. Christine will probably forgive your behavior and even accept your face but, there are few things a woman can stand less than a man who stinks. I'll be back in a bit." Dalir walked out the door, leaving his friend to bath however he pleased, and sought out the kitchen.

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Thirty minutes later, Dalir walked back into the bedroom, bearing a tray with some thin broth, plain rice, a banana, and a glass of water. Erik occupied the bed, but now wore a long nightshirt and a pair of black pajama pants. His hair, or what could be seen of it, had water droplets dripping onto the pillows, revealing he had in fact showered.

"Food. You need to eat." Dalir set the tray across the invalid's lap and gestured for him to eat. After suspiciously eyeing the bland contents of his tray, Erik began lightly sipping on the broth. Dalir watched him for a moment while he drank a glass of coffee, stiffened with some "liquid courage" he'd found inside a cabinet.

"Erik, we need to talk." Erik glanced up at him, pausing mid-sip, waiting for him to clarify. "About what I found in your office."

The bowl clattered to the tray, and broth splashed out.

"What have you done, Nadir?"

Dalir settled back, taking another sip of the coffee and tasting the faintest flavor of brandy washing over his tongue. How to explain? Sighing, he began to speak,

"Ami, I didn't come to this place to retire or to see the sights. I came after you. At the time, I didn't know I was pursuing you, but I was nevertheless." Dalir dug around in his pocket and fished out his badge, flashing it in Erik's direction. "I am on a task force with the goal of bringing the Destroying Angel to justice. Imagine my horror when I found it was my brother."

Dalir put away the badge and stared at the coffee cup in his hands. Erik didn't say a word, only finished the broth that remained his bowl and set aside the tray with a calm that set Dalir's nerves on edge. In that moment, he was reminded that despite everything, Erik had mastered the art of a calm kill. At long last, he broke the silence.

"Tell her I went on a trip and never came back. Please don't tell her I went to the electric chair. That's all I ask. I'd prefer her to just remember me as drug addict rather than a murderer."

Dalir's brain did flip-flops as he looked at the man in the bed, a resigned aura radiating off of him. Shaking his head, he tried to wrap his head around what Erik had just said, the words sending him reeling as he tried to follow the leaps and bounds of Erik's mind.

"No, no, no! I'm not taking you in! You will not go to prison, let alone the electric chair if I have anything to do with it!" Dalir ran a hand through his hair and set aside the empty cup of coffee before pacing at the end of the bed.

"But, how? There is no other place for me, Nadir. You know what I've done." He laid his hands palms up on the blankets covering him. Erik could almost see the blood dripping from their tips, staining her bedding with their sin. His hands were made of death and only worthy of bringing death. _Death – it's the only master I've ever served. Finally, I meet it personally._

"There is another option. It's…slim. But it's our only chance at saving you from prison or the death penalty." Dalir sighed and leaned on one of the bedposts, looking older and grayer in the faint light streaming through the windows. He'd spent the entire week of Erik's illness pouring through information he found on Erik's computer and in file cabinets. _For such a wealth of tips, the government would do almost anything. Even let a murder walk free._

"A chance? Dalir, you're truly senile. Forgive the cliché quality of the expression, but I don't have a snowball's chance in hell."

"Well, more like a snowball's chance in a mean nor'easter. I'm suggesting that you buy your pardon by handing over your employers." Erik remained completely silent, a look of confusion then realization and almost elation dawning in his eyes and posture.

"I have everything on everyone. They never knew or never thought I'd be taken alive." He rubbed his bony hands together and murderously chuckled to himself. "The ultimate mission… But will it work? Will it be enough?"

"Erik, you have records dating back twenty years. You have money trails on every employer, lists of all their aliases, contact information going back to before I joined the force! No only that, you have records on every single person who you…eliminated. And why they were eliminated. Do you know how vital that will be?" Dalir nearly shouted, actually smiling from unbridled giddiness. _The perfect way to free him!_

"Extremely?" Erik offered.

"Invaluably. I can't count the cases that will be closed because of it. Or how many of the vilest will be put behind bars because of your testimony."

"And, in return…?" Erik quietly inquired.

"A complete pardon. Don't accept anything less. You can leave this behind…be a man Christine will be proud of. A man with an acceptable job who isn't running from the law." Dalir's voice softened, kinder, more understanding now.

To Erik, his friend had just handed him his every wish on a silver platter. _No more criminal record. No more fear of capture. No more. Just free. Free to love her. If she will let me._

"If you think it is possible…I will. For her. For Christine. Tell me what I need to do."

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Some hours later, Christine rose from her coma and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and blinking to remove the blurry shapes in her vision. Her limbs felt liquid, nearly melting into the sheets. She shakily ran her hand through her knotted blonde hair. Weariness clung to her bones, threatening to drag her back under. But she slid her body out of bed, momentarily leaning on the edge of the bed to get her balance.

 _I need to see him._

Her ankles wobbled, and she nearly fell but caught herself. When her equilibrium returned, she lurched out of the bedroom and down the hall towards Erik's room. In her mind, she vaguely remembered him being angry at her, throwing her out of the room.

 _I need to see him._

She half-stumbled into the bedroom.

In the bed, Erik lay perfectly still, his chest rising and falling slowly as he lay peaceful in the arms of sleep. Next to him, Dalir sat, reading a book and sipping on a cup of coffee. When she stepped into the room, leaning heavily on the doorknob, he looked up at her and smiled. He raised a finger to his lips and pointed at the sleeping man.

Trembling, Christine closed the door and tiptoed towards the bed. Her legs gave out when she reached the edge of the mattress, and she sunk down, her fingers slipping around his. Her eyes fluttered for a moment before she passed out again, her head plopping quietly down next to his bare arm.


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